It's raining.
The good kind of raining where I make a fire, move my laptop to a table by the dining room window so I can watch the storm, and bundle up in cozy clothing. I went to bed adamant that my distance runners would have morning practice, rain or shine. But when I got up at five and saw the dark and wet, that felt a little obsessive. We can make up the miles some other time. I sent out a text canceling the workout and got back into bed, pulled up the comforter, and slept until eight.
The hunt has gone on for months.
Even in the middle of writing a book, the search for the next topic stalks me. In the morning as I plan the day, in those odd moments of down time, even at night, as Calene and I binge streamers (lately: Slow Horses, Reacher, Murder at the End of the World, a complete re-watch of Band of Brothers), and even as I follow the amazing travels of Cole Brauer (@ColeBrauerOceanRacing on Insta), the question of what to write next looks over my shoulder.
My wife likes to call me Mr. Magoo. Calene claims I wander through life in a state of mild befuddlement, flirting with calamity without knowing. I blame it on the way I arrange my days, traveling from one obsession to another: predawn dreams about the presidency of Teddy Roosevelt, straight out of bed to sunrise practice with my runners, then an hour with my novel before putting playtime away and turning my focus to historical research and writing.
Thanks to my copy editor, I have learned that I am fond of using a dangling modifying phrase. I did not know this. In fact, I will admit that I have no idea what constitutes a dangling modifying phrase. I was never good at diagramming sentences. There's a myth out there that writers are master grammarians, but I think the truth is that most of us stumbled upon this career because we like to read, do not play well with others, and quietly wondered what it would be like to live the writing life.
