In a queue, not even on hold.

It's something of an Indian Summer on the writing front. Words have drifted in on a warm breeze the last couple of days. Easy living. Optimism. Not about publishers and agents, but about writing again.

I am enjoying these days of hearing nothing from agents and publishers. I should be more anxious. I would be if it wasn't for the writing of a new book.

The Key to Finlac sits beside me in the shade. The earth will move around the sun. Agents will be agents. No news is simply no news. It means I am in a queue, not even on hold.

My Indian Summer may last a few weeks more and maybe the new book will be so advanced it will keep me warm throughout the long cold winter.