Well, Hello November

The season's clicked in San Francisco.

The air turned crisp and I needed a blanket on my bed.

I grabbed my peacoat out of the back of the closet and donned a thicker scarf during my morning commute.

Now I dream of steaming spiced cider and powdery freshly fallen snow. I want mittens and hats and boots.

I hope for thunderstorms and fireplaces, and twinkling city lights after dusk.



I want to curl up under soft checkered blankets with my sleepy cat and read hard cover books inside of a snow globe.

Leave the house for work? I think not. I want spicy soups and candle light and dark, cozy, rainy nights.

And wool socks.

This is not my cat, nor my fireplace. But a girl can dream.

This time of year I become contemplative.

I've been thinking really hard about what my next steps will be. I have a prequel to my novel that I considered turning into a short story, but I wanted to write about something unusual. I feel the energy and the inspiration there but I can't make a decision. I'm still floating on the high of finishing Eureka Station. It was my baby for a whole month, after all.

I've been getting into the holiday spirit and am thinking a nice winter tale would warm me right up. I'm enjoying branching out from my fairytales, so maybe you'll see a heart-warming drama or a romantic comedy fly out from my fingertips next. Mixing it up keeps me balanced.

I raise a glass to balance. For every summer there is winter, and every tragedy a comedy. For every red wine there is white. For every flower there is a snowflake.

I am looking forward to this frosty winter and I hope everyone stays warm, bundled and dry.

All my love,
L.B.