It's rainy and dreary. Our roof seems to have a small leak, based on the small drip drip drip in our utility room when the rain comes down hard; this is only to be expected in a hundred-year-old plus house, so I'm not too worried about it. Especially since the source is mysterious despite Christopher journeying onto the shingles, the roof itself isn't that old, and our neighbor who used to be a carpenter says their hundred-year-old house built at the same time as ours also has a mysterious leak and they don't worry about it too much. Don't worry or leave dread scenarios in the comments. We'll call someone to look at it, promise. 
Anyway, there's part of me that feels very Pippi Longstocking about it.* Leaky houses always seemed like the kind of glamorous thing encountered in books, while, you know, the far less glamorous flooded basements were the stuff of my own childhood. No alluring buckets, only the ugly roar of shopvacs. I just need to wear mismatched patterned knee socks around the house, and the effect will be even better.
My sojourn from the creepy island book is done, and today I dive back in. The beginning of winter (in terms of actual weather) seems like an ideal time to hunker down in the writing bunker. Hibernation only without the hibernation part**. Oh, how I love this part of any project. The first time you roll up your sleeves armed with pen and someone else's notes and begin the journey to version 2.0. Or from beta release to one that is… less beta.
I've been cheating on hangovers for the past week or so, experimenting with sticking little links at Tumblr instead. This seems easier to manage, and is likely to continue for the foreseeable future, with random natterings like this one and book recommendations landing here. We'll see.
For now, I'm donning those socks and rolling up my sleeves.
*Or very Rivane Neuenschwander–when we were last in NYC Scott took us to the New Museum and they had a big exhibition of her work on display, including a riveting immersive installation called Rain Rains involving aluminum buckets hung from the ceiling dripping water into buckets below. The cumulative soundscape ended up making everyone quiet as they began to take it in. Pretty amazing.
**There's a new issue of LCRW just out on the street and the Dear Aunt G features much on the topic of hibernation. Also, space madness. Forewarned is forearmed.
We’re also extra vigilant about leaks whenever it rains hard here in Miami. Our metal roofing hasn’t had holes yet, but we’re still cautious because having leaks is the last thing that we want to happen in our house. You see, my wife makes paper-mâché sculptures, so it will be a total disaster once rain water is able to seep in.
You’ve had it checked already, right? How did things go? Were they able to fix the problem? Those leaks really have to be taken care of as soon as you’ve spotted them.