A Dry Time

I seem to be going through a dry time in my writing, like the nearby grassy hills that march into the Central Valley, washed in russet brown. It's a seasonal thing I know. And the early winter rains will feed the hills and grasses with nourishing water.

For myself I daily sit down and make the time to write and research and take notes and allow characters to move in and out of consciousness. They are alive. And the paper and computer screen yearns to capture a small facet of these adventurous lives who lived, loved and moved the world over a century ago.