How can it be autumn already?

I am happy to report that I’ve just got past 20,000 words in Pitkirtly XXIII (‘The Christmas Catastrophe’) and the story is progressing more or less according to the very vague plan in my head. This is in spite of a recent blip when I realised I had written a pivotal chapter in a way that didn’t work – I can’t really explain why I knew this without giving too much away but it was a kind of logistical / timing issue. I am glad to have realised this in time to rewrite the chapter instead of getting myself tied in knots as the plot went on.

For a little while I was worried this story would turn out too dark, however I know perfectly well it’s impossible for me to write gritty realism, even in the case of my family history write-up!

Because I’ve set aside the mornings to work on this one – mornings are my best writing time – I can usually fit in some work on my historical novel later in the day once I’ve got through my self-imposed crochet and audiobook time, housework, gardening and committee minutes. The historical one is progressing more slowly, partly because I can’t make up my mind what to do with one of the characters. I hope to work it out as I go along.

As I write this I am amazed that the weather has gone from unseasonably mild to chilly enough for a big cardigan already, and today there’s a wind that has already blown a good number of apples off the tree. I’ve rescued most of the others, although I’ve seen a squirrel and a magpie nibbling at the ones near the top of the tree so they may not be worth saving. I was in the garden yesterday and noticed some new growth from the stump of the holly tree that was chopped down earlier in the year following a long argument about it with my next-door neighbour. Part of me feels that this is some kind of a good omen, while another part is slightly alarmed – the new leaves are spookily white too, instead of variegated white and green, and seem somehow sinister.