Beautiful day for walking. Near 60 degrees, blue skies. It's that wonderful Central Oregon weather that you usually have to wait for spring to get. It being a Saturday I expected hordes of ATV's, but ran into only one crew. Actually, they make so much noise that all you have to do is raise your hand as they pass.

I try not to be too judgemental--after all, I once had a motorbike and did the same thing and thought nothing wrong with it. (Though I hope they don't open up the Ochocos to this...)

My creative energies are reviving. I'm getting writing thoughts without calling for them. Figured out the rest of the "Ruby Red and the Robots" plot, as well as some sketchy plot points for my next Virginia Reed novel. Including the subtitle of "The Dragon of Hell's Canyon."

I'm going to hit February 1st running. Finish off Ruby Red and start on the next VR adventure.

All is well.

It's funny. This is the first time in six years that I've given myself a significant chunk of time to not write--over a month. It's the first time, in a way, I've come up out of the ground and looked around, blinking, amazed by how much I've written.

It reminds me of my first six years at the store. The same thing happened--I dove in and didn't look up. Unfortunately, with the store, just around this time, everything went wrong and I spent the next decade equally obsessed and barely hanging on.

With writing, I have no such pressures. Really, I accomplished my goal with the first few books. The more time passes, the more I'm willing to allow that "Led to the Slaughter," for instance, is a pretty good book.

All is well, Knock wood.

KNOCK WOOD

"How's it hanging?"

Peter loved Marie's English accent, especially when wrapped around an American euphemism. He wondered if his boss understood the schoolyard double entente of the phrase she was using.

"Things are great, knock wood," he answered. He gently tapped the table, low enough that she probably couldn't hear it.

"Knoock Woood," she repeated, and Peter melted. He'd never met his boss, so he was free to imagine his dream woman. Tall and willowy, auburn haired, blue eyes.  "Well, keep it up, Peter. You're doing great. Are you coming to the convention?"

Peter was stumped. Crowds made him panic--he avoided them whenever possible. "I've got a wedding to go to that weekend," he lied.

"Pity...I was hoping to see you." She said it softly, not in boss mode at all.

"Me too," he blurted mindlessly.

She hung up before he could say anything else stupid. He stood up, put his computer in his backpack, grabbed his hat, and headed out for his walk. Even though it was late January, it was a beautiful day, 60 degrees and blue skies, the kind of weather that usually only came around in Spring.

The path was slightly muddy from the rain and snow of the previous two weeks, but he walked on the beaten down grass to the side of the trail, asking himself the usual question: How's it going? The phrase was a prompt, to get himself thinking. He smiled to himself. I need to change that to, "How's it hanging?"

Things were going really well. He lived in the best part of America and he had his dream job, using his computer skills at home. Everything would be perfect if he wasn't such a loner. Sometimes he wished...

But no, things were going great.

Knock wood.

He stepped over to a large Juniper tree. It was low and and wide and scraggly, which meant it was old. The taller straighter trees were younger, from what he read.

He tapped three times on the scruffy bark of the tree, then...after a moment's hesitation...tapped one more time for good measure.

"What do you want?"

Peter whirled around with a shout. He always kept his ears open for ATV's, which he could hear a mile away, and/or barking dogs. He rarely ran into other walkers who were alone.

The little guy was brown and knobby, his skin folded like bark, his dark eyes gleaming with...alertness?

"Hurry up and make your wish. I ain't got all day." The voice sounded like two sticks rubbed together.