A world of springtimes on the west coast. It smells fresh, like April has arrived, and not a moment too soon. It's been, oddly, a long winter--even for California terms. There were periods of warmth and pockets of chill but on the whole the Southland survived, and here we are.
Been working a lot lately. Mostly on a play, called Henry Swann's Limoges. I've not given up on West Coast Hearts; I think it'll be a more in-depth project and having blocked out a couple of possible conclusions, I admit that I haven't decided which one I like the best; they all work; one has to work better than the others.
And so, to take a break from it (novel writing is really tiring, having written three and having now silvered gracefully) and work on a play (which I find very relaxing, actually) has been like wading through a grotto, and arriving at a moonlit beach.
Speaking of plays, I've begun to re-draft MILFord, and have done some producing research on the project. I expect to complete this next draft by the end of the month.
Yes, and those are the kinds of kindling that fans the story. As I've said, I've written three versions of the first act and am not entirely convinced that any of them works. And so the writing simply continues.
The other day I heard from my lit agent, who mentioned that both Dryline Rhapsody and North Of Here are headed back out to publishers. It's such a crazy, drawn-out process; I'm seriously considering taking matters into my own hands and self-publishing the latter just to test the audience. Stay tuned here or at the other blog for more details on how to get your hands on these masterpieces.
And so evening comes. This is when the fog generally glazes over the canyons and arroyos in this part of SoCal. It's beautiful. Then the temperature drops quickly. I'm always amazed at this; I'm amazed at a lot of things out here.
