I finished the novel I’ve been writing about a hermit for the past few years, and now it’s out in the world in search of an agent and/or editor (one rejection already!). It’s a bit strange to wake in the morning and not need to work on a project I’ve lived with for such a long time. And I haven’t yet found the focus to start something new. So I feel a bit eremitic myself, suspended between here and there, adrift in the aether of completion and contemplation while still firmly grounded in the lingering feeling of work to be done.

There’s an excerpt from the novel forthcoming soon (I think) at PANK, and an earlier, since revised chapter appeared at Pindeldyboz a while ago.

And by now I’m so set in my habit of collecting clippings and links and readings related to hermits and solitude and etcetera (big thanks to Meng-hu’s Hermitary), that I haven’t stopped gathering yet and I’m not sure I can. Or that I want to just yet.