Reality Bites (Or Welcome Home)

For Mrs Thomson and myself, the Christmas holidays are finally over and we’re back to the reality of the Great White North in its entire January splendor, ice and snow included.  Though it was three weeks devoted to idleness in the name of celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary, scuba diving notwithstanding, I did manage to add two chapters to the third Siobhan Dunmoore adventure, still working my way from both front and back towards the middle, depending on how well my characters are cooperating.

No doubt I’ll be progressing a bit faster now that the vacations are behind me rather than before me, if only to make the eleven weeks or so remaining until I bid my current employer farewell go by in a flash.  Or at least I hope they’ll go by in a flash, seeing as how I’m now a lame duck within my organization.

The concept of becoming a full-time writer still seems a bit surreal some days, but it’s about to happen.  As I was joking to Mrs Thomson this morning, my new employer (me!) will have a splendid physical activity program for his staff, namely a round of golf or two per week during working hours next summer.  How can I not look forward to discussing storylines with myself or working around my characters’ latest bit of obstinacy as I wait for the slow foursome ahead of me to finish repeatedly overshooting the green (I go to a rather down market golf course so I don’t stand out as the worst player around).

With winter now solidly ensconced for the next three months, I’ll have nothing other to do on weekends than write and perhaps take the occasional cross country trek aboard my trusty skis.  Thus, I’ll have no excuse beyond my normal level of idleness to drag out the completion of my work in progress.

I hope everyone had the chance to relax a bit in the last few weeks and by disconnecting with the rat-race were able to reconnect with family, friends, nature or whatever else makes life pleasant.  We certainly did.  It bodes well for a productive 2016, with two Book 3s on the boards and other stories fermenting in that strange place that passes for my imagination.

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