I’m home for a few sweet days before I go to London for the UK book tour. It’s cold here but very sunny, and from my window I can see my footprints from where I carried the compost out last night. Yesterday I was out and about at around 6:30 in the evening and realized it wasn’t quite dark, that we’re headed to the vernal equinox in a month or so, to spring.
I’m looking forward to my trip to the UK. I really enjoy having a chance to meet readers and talk about The Lake of Dreams, though the very public act of discussing a book is different from the very private act of writing one, and I can’t seem to do both at the same time. After readings, people almost always ask if I’m working on the next book, and the answer is both yes, and no. I do have an idea, there in my peripheral vision. I know where I’ll start to look when I’m ready to write. And I know there will be a long spell of exploration, where I let myself write without worrying about form, or character, or anything except the deep pleasure of writing, and the faith that at some point the pieces I need will start to emerge, take shape, and become the story.
There’s another very nice review of The Lake of Dreams today, posted below.