Not All Who Wander Are Lost

So, I'm looking at a big birthday at the end of this month. I don't know if it's a trick or a treat, but by Halloween I'll be the big 4-0. I know, I know, I know . . . there will be a bevy of "over the hill" jokes. I found my first silver hair this week--a bright, Christmas tree tinsel silver and my students are making me feel really old. I'm older than a lot of their parents even though my little girl is only in first grade. Of course, they routinely make my twenty-something year old colleagues feel like little old lady or men. I know my dad too. A flock of vultures will come to roost on the front lawn. Don't worry, I'll post pictures. My brother in law is looking forward to the payback. I decided against having a big birthday bash. It's not fair at all. When my husband turned 40 I threw him a huge party, but I put the kibosh on that for me. My birthday's at the end of October when the weather in Chicagoland is sliding from chilly to bit

I'm at an interesting point right now. For the last couple of years I've been trucking away on the trilogy. I had a plan. I knew what I needed to write next. I knew where one book ended, I had a very clear direction and a plan. I also had Ascent of the Fallen tucked in there. It had been an idea born in traffic on a miserable March day on a school bus filled with 8th graders who's just woken up from their Romeo and Juliet length nap. There too, I had an idea. I changed the direction a few times, but I still had a plan. Now, not so much. There's no plan. There's no clear successor to my time waiting in the wings. There are no characters I know as well as myself stalking me, tapping me on the shoulder and insisting that I write their stories NOW! I have a few new characters, but we're still in the "getting to know you" stage. I don't really know them, I don't know what they want or need, or where they will eventually go. I have vague plans on t