The strike is over! Finally—three weeks late, thanks to a teachers strike—my kids are headed back to school. Finally, three weeks late, I get my Mondays to myself.

Which means a full day to write.

For Mondays are the day I don’t work my full-time job. And Mondays—finally—are the days the kids are in school.

Since mid-June I’ve been finding stolen time to write. I’ve got one young adult manuscript in the hands of an agent (see Beneath the Cardboard Moon) and am diving into a new one. It’s not even 9 a.m. and I have a whole day ahead of me to develop characters and play with plot and dive into research.

But am creating a blog instead.

Why? To extend my community.

You see, I live in a small town. A very small town. About 1,500 people. And about the same living in the hills and along the lakes around us. We have gorgeous scenery and friendly neighbours and breathing space and a smattering of services. But we also have challenges.

No writing festivals. No bookstore (except used—and I require new). The odd author visit to our too-cute library, but the next one cancelled due to lack of interest in her complementary writing workshop. One writers’ group that I’ve heard of, but am not a part of.

And so it’s mostly me, in my home, alone.

Thanks for reading this post. Please follow those to come: my musings on writing and reading and maximizing life within a small town.

Leave a reply.