17.9.11 | By: Megan Langham

Autumn, Muses, and Cafe Lattes

When I woke up this morning it was autumn.

Since the end of August I’d been waiting impatiently for summer to end. It’s not that I’m against summer, certainly not. Summer is beautiful. How could I fail to appreciate the charms of blue skies, delicate breezes, cool water on my sun-warmed skin? But if ever a season stirred my senses and delighted my soul, autumn is that season. I was not autumn-born, though I feel as if I ought to have been (something like how I should have been born Ginger And All--I’ve even got the skin for it). There’s something in the wind, the leaves, the misty rain, the smell of smoke and cider and cinnamon, that sets my heart singing.

...my heart singing, and my fingers itching. I think it must be my muse that is autumn-born. Among other reasons, it despises the summer. (Somewhat related: is it a breach of authorial etiquette to refer to muses as “it”? Weren’t they technically women? These sorts of questions keep me up at night.) I’d promised myself I would finish Volunteer Mission before the summer was out, and ... that hasn’t exactly happened. For one thing, I hit a bump back around the middle of March. It is an insurmountable bump. I am going to surmount it before November comes. I swear that on the gravestone of my muse. (Not really related at all: my muse must take her Greek mythology heritage quite seriously--dying in spring to rise again in autumn? That’s just like Persephone, only somewhat backwards.)

As for November, I’m becoming increasingly more excited about my coming opus (though it’s a good thing all I can do is plan now, as I would feel horribly torn if it threatened to take me away from Volunteer Mission, and what is it, really, with all these parentheses?). It is perhaps the closest I’ve come to writing a romance novel--but that description’s rubbish, because I generally loathe romance novels, and unless something dreadful happens this is going to be nothing like one. It is Celtic, misty, shades of green and grey like primeval Ireland--but not, because despite the Irish names it takes place in Northumbria (there’s historical basis for that, take too long to explain) in the late 700s, which may be ancient but is certainly not primeval. The setting and storyline and general aura are in tune with the deepest part of me yet frighteningly alien, somehow. All in all, it promises to be a thrilling experience.

Also the collective conscious of every Pumpkin Spice Latte everywhere is calling to me. I found a recipe  so I can make my own without having to resort to Starbucks' foamed milk monstrosities (I'm off dairy and a thousand other things at the moment--otherwise I would have no problem with resorting to Starbucks) and as soon as I get myself some canned pumpkin, spiced delight will commence.

All the best of autumn and everything to my fellow writers! Out of comradely curiosity, how many of you are going to attempt NaNoWriMo this year? Let me know so I can add you when the time for Updating Of Profiles is at hand!

6 missives:

Meghan said...

Autumn is my favorite season...as I type I am sipping coffee enjoying a beautiful breeze from my window....all before I get ready for church, of course!

Katie S. said...

Autumn. ^.^ Happy Autumn, my friend. Revel in it. Rejoice in it. I would too, if Autumn had seen fit to grace Wisconsin with its presence... Apparently we are jumping right into winter. 30 and 40 degree weather and all that jazz. And what with the drastic change from 90 to 30, my entire family has been sick for over a week. >.>

Anyhoozers. Someday I want Volunteer Mission on my shelf. Right next to all the books Abigail and Jenny will ever write. ^.^ And I find myself completely understanding you when you say, "The setting and storyline and general aura are in tune with the deepest part of me yet frighteningly alien, somehow." Lara's Story is the same way for me, and I find it doggone hard to write for that reason alone. Ah, well, I had it coming to me I suppose.

Thank you for this post, Megan. 'Twas a joy and pleasure to read. ^.^

Rhoswen Faerie Wrose said...

Autumn- the most glorious season ever! It is truly my favorite, as well. When I, also, am most alive! ^.^ I like to consider myself a Fall baby, even though my birhtday is at the beginning of September, so technically Summer. I don't care, though, I am Fall through and through.

Your next story sounds very intriguing...
And, of course, I will be participating in NaNo again. ;-) It's time to work more on Naji's Story.

For now, enjoy apple cider with cinnamon, pumpkin with spice, the beautiful colors, cozy sweaters, roaring fires, and all other things Autumnal. ^.^ With lots of snugs on the side!

Jenny Freitag said...

It's funny, I always find myself starting stories in autumn - be it really autumn here or only autumn in the story. I am an autumn child - November, though so often grey and dreary with wet gale-blown leaves pattering against the windows and sticking there, making pathetic shadows, though so often the blowy veil between autumn and winter, still conjures up on my vision ruddy colours and wheat fields in full-blown leonine splendor.

It's funny, I was just telling Anna in a letter: to me, turning from summer to autumn isn't going from one season to another, it's going from one world to another.

"There's a moral somewhere in that, if you like morals."

Megan L. said...

Meghan-with-an-h: A cup of coffee on an autumn morning is a thing of beauty. In my opinion it comes second only to tea on an autumn evening. ;)

Katiekins: You poor thing! Maybe that nasty 30 degrees business is just an unfriendly reminder that winter is coming, and once you've got the message you'll be returned to your regularly scheduled autumn. At least that would be nice. And hey, thank you for your sweet words. You're always an encouragement to me.

Wrosie: Eeesh, you're getting me even more excited for this season than I was already - which is definitely saying something. I, also, wish you all the delights that Autumn has to offer. And thanks muchly for the snugs. ^.^

Jennyest: How is it that you can always say what I'm thinking - only much more poetically? It's true that though all the seasons are different from one another, autumn feels the most individual; indeed, like another world. It's the season of the poet-souled, or so I like to think. Even November is somehow more than the other transitory months, drenched as they all are with "the magic of halfway things". Perhaps that is why I persist in loving it.

Abigail Hartman said...

And I was just thinking the other day that I am most inspired in the autumn. I actually find myself wanting to sit down to write White Sail's. However, I'm afraid I am not doing NaNo this year unless something drastically changes in my life's schedule; I have got to finish my trouble child, and I think attempting to do NaNo this year, with all the other things going on, would send me over the edge. So, alas, no NaNo. I'll sit on the sidelines and cheer for you (and try not to be jealous!).

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