This Tuesday/Friday schedule will take some getting used to… I felt like I was slacking this week. What a week it’s been though! My new job – I’m now the Accounting Assistant at a wonderful company in Bellevue, Washington – is going better than I could have hoped and Cullen and I (somehow) made time to hang out with lots of friends this week. I even carved out some stretches in the evenings and wrote brand new content, added to the excerpt below, and edited some existing paragraphs. Hot damn!
Also – I’m reading three new books on the life of writers which have already given great advice (the grand, important kind of ‘great’) and huge amounts of support:
- A Year of Writing Dangerously – Barbara Abercrombie
- For Writers Only – Sophy Burnham
- The Art of Time in Fiction: As Long As It Takes – Joan Silber
Sound erupted from the stall at the middle of the MarketCenter, signaling the morning’s opening. The day had a rare warm beginning to it, but the rhythms had moved quickly from the summer and the land was now halfway between Foundation and the winter solstice. Music began around the Center as people milled about, laughing and chatting over the day’s newest gossip. Streams of color floated lazily from the self-playing trumpets and trombones as the music became audible just above the din of voices. As instrumental tones from different carts, tents, and stalls combined to form a full orchestra of strange new melodies, the colors mingled and created ribbons of gorgeous, vivid beauty. Each day, the music was different, and so too were the colors.
The smells of the Center matched the sounds’ colors in distinction and splendor with each new item brought out of the kitchens. The breads and pastries wafted warmth and comfort; the vibrant candies smelled of summer. There were fresh vegetables in trays and exotic fruits displayed across countertops. The people of Tha’lassos knew the cold seasons were approaching in the next two rhythms and wanted to finish the summer crop strong and thoroughly.
Each turn, the heat of the final summer rhythm allowed the dark cobblestones of the MarketCenter to absorb enough heat to continue warming the entire Center through the winter. With everything, and everyone, exposed to the harsh cold during the storms, many people would have died without the enchanted shelter of the Center. The snow would melt away; no ice would form. The temperatures would plummet, but very little else ever changed in Tha’lassos.