Not that I'm bitching.
In the 23 years I've lived in Portland, I can't remember such a fantastic lingering sun spell. No rain since the beginning of July. Tomatoes that rival New Jersey August-grown ones. Umbrellas clenched like fists. Car windows left open all night (shit, that reminds me...). Enough, already.
Fitting that weather would change with the onset of Wordstock. Rain is writing weather, after all. Gone is the stray, "let's go bang a couple balls around the court" notion. It's curl up in front of the fire with a stack of books. With your notes. With your big, big ideas for the next book.
It's here. Yes it is. Whatcha gonna write?
