Years ago, I started writing a tale – as follow-up to another or as background material, I don’t know which. Set it aside when it stopped going anywhere. It showed up again this morning as I struggled to get over and out a series of dead ends in the current work in progress.

The writing of this one: the hardest yet. But that’s always the case of a current work in progress. Where would the challenge be, if that were not the case? the reasonable voice asks in my head. The not-so reasonable one counters: Oh yeah? Who says writing can’t be a whole lot more fun than it’s proving to be right now?

In two days, it will be my brother’s birthday. He’ll turn sixty-four if he’s still alive, which I believe he is. Years ago, he broke with every one of us and never answered me when I picked up his trail after an internet search. Ours isn’t a close-knit family – or maybe the ties don’t include enough light-heartedness, and the only solution is to break away.