Yesterday was the perfect fall day (even though it was still technically summer). You couldn't have asked for a more lovely day for a literary festival! Edin Mills was in full swing and something called Telling Tales (must look into that one--heard it was stellar). I was at Words Alive--third year in a row--presenting this year on non-fiction to a very small, but very engaged crowd. Even sold a few books. Bonus. The sunshine drizzled through the huge oak and maple leaves dazzling the grounds of Sharon Temple. I had the best conversation with author, Bruce Hunter--must run out and buy his books, especially his latest, In The Bear's House. I also thoroughly enjoyed hearing Natale Ghent read from her middle-grade, The Odds get Even. It was an awesome day.
There's just something about fall that puts me into writing mode. I'm not sure what it is. Fall's always been my favourite season. When I think of fall I think of my first year at the University of Western Ontario. I think of my first solo travel to Europe (aimed for Oktoberfest--but missed it. Who'd 'a thunk Oktoberfest was in September???). I think of wearing new boots--fall boots--which are infinitely more fun and chic than those practical winter boots, jeans and sweaters and of course poncho's. (I've never actually owned a poncho, or a wrap for that matter, but I think of them nonetheless.) Fall air feels fresh. Maybe because the summer smog has settled. People start using their fireplaces, though sadly most (including myself) now have gas fireplaces which may provide some warmth and ambiance, but totally lack that amazing smell. Fall makes me think of apple crisp and stew--oh and chili! Big pots of soup. All that comfort food. I'm not sure why fall makes me want to write--seems like it makes me want to eat.
Ah well, off to dig out my fall boots, jeans, maybe knit a poncho and write, write, write!