Desk of Reck - Creative Health

Has it been a week already? It's been a busy couple of weeks for me, with activities ranging from the Newton Library Local Author day to meeting up with three members of the Cornucopia (Christina, Evan, and Lance), and completing a few more books for podcasts. It's been nice, needed.

I own an electric lawn mower these days, it's magic. No more uselessly yanking at the pull chain of a gas mower pretending like I'm not going to have to go in and get Jen to get it going. Sometimes writing feels like that. I had a podcast with Jay Krauss last night, and we talked about how a lot of the time being a writer is about managing your mental and creative health.

I think we all have some idea of managing our mental health, but creative health is different. I sat with one of the most prolific LitRPG authors today and Jay talked about the importance of not writing on the weekends, going on roadtrips with your spouse when you're stuck, and his ever growing list of ideas that we both know he'd have to be [Immortal] to finish.

So! Thank you for your patience. For this precious week, and I'll begin resuming Stumbling Up posts this Sunday... because sometimes you just need that grinding schedule of posts to keep you going (the grass has to get mowed eventually, right?).

I'm excited to get into book 2... here's a little promo teaser:

A leaf fell from the windy thermal it had floated on for miles and miles. Fall was coming, and stressed by a dry summer, the Heltenic aspen had given up its leaf early, and angrily. Which is possibly why it fluttered down, aimed at a lonely caravan.

Drought had caused it to fall, tumbling and slicing through the rising warm air. But the constant beat of heat and wind had hardened it well beyond a normal biological edge. Loneliness had tipped its tremble toward a new master.

Cole sat on the back of the wagon, with a desert wrap protecting his gills and lungs from the dust. As always, he and Richard had taken up the rearguard position. Squinting at the miraging horizon, he cursed as a drop of sweat stung his eyes.

We need to sound the alarm.

Cole blinked, staring at what Richard had seen. A swirl of dust that he'd taken as yet another sun induced illusion. A breeze tugged at his head wrap, it was unusual at midday. The sweat on his back had started to evaporate, sending a cool shiver across his body.

Turning to yell the alarm, a stray leaf fell out of the sky, slicing across his face. Bright red splashed across Cole's clothes as he watched the journey of the leaf end as it fell to the sand.

"Sound the ALARM!" Cole yelled, his words emphasized by the blood splashed against his clothes. Tandy looked back from her middle point, eyebrows dark, until she spotted Cole.

The only one keeping an eye on the caravan's approaching doom was Richard. He clung to Cole's shoulders, eyestalks glued to the approaching dust devil.

We are so screwed.