William McGregor Paxton (1869-1941),
oil on canvas.
Sometime around the ides of August the light changes. From sharp, delineating clarity it softens to golden during the long, lazy afternoons. The first warning of the inexorable turn toward the last light of the sun's year. An ancient writer of romances named Essie Summers described it best. "The light is tender in August."
While sorting through my accumulated g-mails, I came across a sad message from a friend of Erik Ivan James. You may remember Erik -- both for his explicit sex scenes and for his unfailing encouragement and appreciation of other's writings. He died in September.
Another e-mail, in July from http://www.invesp.com/blog-rank/Romance_Novels informed me, to my complete, blinking astonishment, that this blog ranked - at the time and, I assume, temporarily - 9th among romance blogs. One of Miss Snark's expressive acronyms is appropriate, but I was flattered, nevertheless.
Wild Child Publishing requested another short story for Weirdly 3, but I have no information on a pub date.
I am still surrounded by the decisions and detritis of death. Still, even after all these months. But I hope to resume my daily round of your blogs soon.