I don't have anything to write at the moment.
It feels weird. I hadn't planned to do much this year, because I knew that Evie being at kinder would chop up my days and not give me much opportunity for working. I'd vaguely supposed that I might be spending this time editing and rewriting Crow Country, but it hasn't come back to me yet. There was also the delightful frenzy of Swoosie, which definitely wasn't planned. And yet now I find myself strangely idle.
I am mulling over and researching the New Guinea book, but I'm nowhere near ready to start actually writing it. (The characters are quite clear, but I don't know what's going to happen to them yet.) And there is the very faint stirring of a new fantasy at the back of my mind, which isn't even an idea yet. And it's just as well I don't have anything pressing, because there have been school holidays and sick kids, and maybe building work soon, and it would be awful to have a deadline and no chance to work.
But then I remember that it was in one of these peculiar, unsettled phases that I began to write Singer of All Songs, just for something to do. And I guess that worked out okay.
(I found an online review today that described Singer as "under-rated." Oh, well, better than being over-rated, I suppose!)