Such a familiar feeling. Pack, unpack, re-pack. The owners come back late tonight. Tomorrow, I go back to the place I call home these days. Through the upheavals and disruptions, my latest first draft nears completion, with ungainly bits and missing connections all over the place. The characters not yet as drawn out as I want. Some questions in need of answers, some roads in need of further exploration, others not as useful as first suspected. Plus, a huge need to move on and away from the cycle of stories I’ve located in a fictional town called Hautvoir.

For now: gathering in my books and other belongings. Vacuuming, laundry, swabbing floors. Leaving. Again and again and again.

The best parts always happen in the temporary, suspended space between the place left behind and the one further up or down the road. Must remember that.