I love October—my favorite of all the months, and yet she is unpredictable, inconsistent, ornery.
Sometimes she arrives all at once—we wake up to trees of crimson and gold, the smell of burning wood and spiced drinks on the wind, tasty things stewing and baking. Overnight it’s October everywhere; we feel it in our bones. The dead come calling, and it’s Halloween for weeks. The nights are deliciously haunted, and we gather together for wine and whispers and witchy things that remind us of the magic of childhood autumns.
Sometimes October is slow to arrive, just hints of color here and there, the gradual bundling of layers—first a scarf, then a sweater, maybe mittens without fingers. Summer hangs on, and Halloween feels far away, and winter farther still. We look down at our bare feet crunching orange leaves in the grass, our legs in shorts, our hands in mittens. There’s a disconnect, a teasing, a hesitation—is October coming or isn’t she? Sometimes we ignore her, lulled into a false sense of never-ending summer. Sometimes we choose to look for October in unexpected places, we work a little harder, maybe find roads never before taken.
Just over a week to go, and I’m still not sure about this year’s October. Perhaps our perception of October is as much influenced by what’s going on inside of us, as what is happening around us. Maybe that’s why she seems fickle? Maybe October reflects back to us who we are as we head into the cold darkness of winter?
I left the house early to run errands, and as soon as I sat down in the car, one of my favorite songs came on, the acoustic version of an oldie. I love it when that happens; those songs always feel like gifts–little touchstones to launch me into reverie and remind me of people and places that are often no longer in my life.
Maybe it was the music, or the way the wind felt on my face, or the way the air smelled, but I felt like I had slipped into my childhood skin. Do you know that feeling? One part deja vu, one part daydream. It hits at random times: stepping into an empty classroom, visiting an ice cream shop in a vacation town, waiting for someone at a restaurant, swinging on the swings in an empty park. I love the sensation, like time folding in on itself to give us a peek of something past.
Even after I returned home with groceries, unpacked them, and got into the business of the day, I felt residual nostalgia. Things I touched felt like allusions to other things, more so than usual: my broken rainbow coffee mug reminded me of my circle of girlfriends, Nutella brought me back to eating crepes on the Fressgasse in Frankfurt, cider evoked sitting around a campfire, and so it went all day long–little wisps of the past.
Today is the Autumnal Equinox, one of two days during the year when day and night are in balance (the other is the Spring Equinox). I started writing this at dusk, on the threshold of light and darkness. I love thresholds. I believe that there’s magic in those in between spaces, so it doesn’t surprise me that the past was slipping in all day– looking to be remembered.
As I finish this, the sun has set, and the balance has shifted. This next half of the year belongs to the darkness, to cooler temperatures and the landscape of nature dying, to hearth fires and candles, to blankets and loved ones, to stories and dreaming and everything that keeps us warm.
Blessings of a bountiful harvest to you and yours.
I attended my second WorldCon in San Antonio at the end of August. My first was last year in my hometown of Chicago. In the span of a year, I’ve participated in a few different cons, some large, some small: Locust Moon Comic Festival, ICFA, C2E2, Readercon, WisCon, and LoneStarCon.
Each time I leave inspired, not only by the great works that get honored or by the guests who are celebrated for their contributions, but by other working writers and editors who carve out time whenever they can; who are on their second, third, or tenth books; who complain about their laptops, vent about their partners and families, gush over stories that inspire them, and find joy in the company of other weird and wonderful creative people.
After the Hugos, with Amy Sisson, Francesca Myman, Cady Coleman, Stina Leicht.
There were panels: some informational, others provocative; some balanced, others not so much. I attended many discussions which featured friends, and I was treated to passionate conversations about poetry and science; plot problems; the future of short stories; science, space, and speculative fiction; and China through the lens of its science fiction.
“Science, Space Exploration, and Speculative Fiction Collide” Panel with Marco Palmieri, Ann VanderMeer, Stanley Schmidt, astronaut Cady Coleman, and John Chu.
There were awards, where I cheered for Campbell-nominated friends (yay Max Gladstone and Stina Leicht) and celebrated those who won Hugos (yay John Picacio, Best Professional Artist; and Galen Dara, Best Fan Artist); and there were After Parties, places to celebrate with friends.
After the Hugos: Wesley Chu, Stina Leicht, Max Gladstone, and David Boop.After the Hugos, with Tara Smith, John Picacio, and Nancy Hightower.
There were large public spaces where we congregated for wifi and coffee, for meetings and impromptu chats; and when the sun went down for wine, scotch, sweet things, and more coffee.
In such good company, hanging out with wonderful Tor people: Ellen Gallo, Max Gladstone, Stephanie Neely, me, Miriam Weinberg, Stacy Hill, and Carrie Vaughn.
Those “writers in the wild” times were my favorite–the casual moments when we wandered and were welcomed at tables and beside bars. When a conversation could carry on late into the night, or well into the morning. Because sometimes 5am guacamole along the riverwalk is a way of holding onto the magic for a little while longer, before we all have to return to the real world and the work that makes up most of our days.
So I came home and delved back into the stories I’ve been working on all summer, finishing up a novelette and a few shorts, tweaking some poems, and sending things out to readers. Fall brings the next novel and the excitement of delving into ancient history to build a new world and a new cast of characters who will live inside my head until it’s done.
My fabulous roommates: Nancy Hightower and Stina Leicht.
In the meantime, there are little tastes to keep us going: tweets at midnight when we’re writing, facebook chats and email exchanges. It helps to keep us connected, but nothing can compare with midnight marshmallows, early morning guacamole, and coffee in the company of good friends.
