The Writer's Garret is Aubergine

"What does that mean?" you ask.

Go ahead. Ask, I can wait.

I have a nickname for my computer/music room, which is under the roof of the house, but not connected by any interior doors. It is, among other things, my "writer's garret." Your more classic writer's garret is a room above a garage, or a room in a the quietest corner of the second story of a house in New England (call me prejudiced in that regard) overlooking inspiring scenery, like the autumn leaves that I miss so much during the month of October. Whimper.

Well, I'm not in New England at present, we have a carport, not a garage, and no second story. However, I do have my separate place, and I call it "The Aubergine Enclave". Why "Aubergine"? Is it just to use some arcane word with which to make it sound mysterious and classy? Yeah, partly. I will not, at the moment, tell you what it means. It's more fun for me that way, and will entice you to return to my site because your curiosity demands it. I hope you return for better reasons than that, but it's a start.

However, it's been a rough few weeks, writing-wise, in the Enclave. I've started a lot more than I've finished, written parts of the book that I'm not satisfied with, can't get away from being depressed over the whole "October" thing, wrote a poem in honor of a very nice young woman's wedding that I'm not at all happy with yet.... But, I finally wrote the "September 12" article. It took time to sift out what I wanted to get at, and it hit me unexpectedly a few hours ago, and FINALLY, I have the first & complete draft. I feel greatly relieved. It can really bother a writer to have something nagging at them that they just HAVE to write (whether or not they actually want to) and not get it out of their bloody system.

Whew!

Great; now all I have to do is go back & revise & edit it until it's just right. Or, at least as close to "just right" as I can render it.

Man, I hope you think it's worth the wait and the build-up. However, if I'm not willing to put myself on the hot seat and point to center field, I won't know if I can actually hit the home run to back it up. If it means I have to shamelessly mix metaphors like that, then, by God, I'm going to do it!