My life has slowed down to a comfortable speed, for now at least. My job's been manageable, my nonjob tasks are getting done, this morning I even dusted off my bread machine and baked a loaf , and - don't tell anyone, because I'm afraid of jinxing it - after more than two months, I've finally gotten back to working on my current book, instead of channeling all my energy into trying to market the last one. When I say marketing, I include writing this blog, interviewing other authors, researching agents, crafting a query letter ... the whole business side of this business. The whole noncreative aspect of trying to get my foot in the door.
But I've been lonely for my boy. I've missed the 17th-century Cistercian monastery in Ireland where he finds himself at the end of his first journey. And I've missed his self-appointed guardian, Brother Nose. Of course, being deaf and illiterate, my boy doesn't know his guardian's real name; in his head, he names the people he encounters based on their characteristics. And even on a man as big in all respects as Brother Nose, it's not hard to single out the one feature that captures attention.
I'm back to watching them, them and all the others in the story, trying to learn who they are and how they'll react when I throw events their way. As the only one who knows of their existence, I'm responsible for all of them - the monks, the villagers, the wise woman, the English soldiers. I'm ready now to go back and resume my responsibility. Wish me well.