Finally, it’s autumn, my favorite time of year. In spring, I’m tempted to think it may be my favorite season: budding trees, green grass, bird song. Then autumn rolls around and I remember once more why I love it so.

The air finally cools. The humidity abates. For a short time, the air is perfect - like it would be if I lived in Switzerland in the summer rather than North Carolina! The leaves change into brilliantly-hued sweaters and begin to consider the perfect moment to loosen their hold and drop, finally, to their resting place.

It’s the final resting place part that brings to mind my other favorite ingredient of autumn: melancholy. For someone who injects humor into her writing, I have a wide melancholy streak. I am normally quite upbeat and optimistic. (Disgustingly so, if my best friends are to be believed.) Autumn, though, makes me sit back, reflect, and pine. For things that never were, for things that might have been, for opportunities missed and doors not opened.

Maybe that’s why I generally start writing new books in the Fall of the year. All that introspection makes me itchy. I have a plethora of ideas running through my brain. “What if” scenarios are thick on the ground and possibilities present themselves with every e-mail, photograph and overheard conversation. My creativity is charged and I have to find somewhere to channel it. Books are the dubious recipients of my restless energy.

I have a book languishing for attention. Sixteen almost-right pages that taunt me and dare me to work on them. I have characters, a plot and I know where that book needs to go. I can’t quite bring myself to sit down with that one yet. Another story - one close to my melancholy heart - is also clamoring to be told. I’m not sure, at this point, which story will claim me first. To the victor, the words!

I hope autumn is as magical for you as it is for me. If you find yourself restless for great writer talk, you can always find me at Romance Bandits. Have a wonderful season and enjoy the beauty that surrounds us!