August Fog

August in downeast Maine means fog.

I arrived a few days ago to glorious weather. Nowhere are there skies as blue as in Maine. The black-eyed susans are in full bloom, the asters are just starting to come out, a few raspberries are still visible on the yellowing bushes.

But after a night and morning of rain, fog has set in. From my office window facing the front yard, I see puffs of the white vapors blowing in every once in a while. It’s a good day to write.

I’ve been studying fashion plates of Victorian era teenage girls’ outfits. With the exception of the occasional sailor-suit outfit, they dressed more like their mothers. The only difference are the calf-length skirts and hair worn down (just as frequently it seemed to be worn up).

I’m working on writing the first few chapters of a Victorian story, which will be one of Steeple Hill’s new Love Inspired Historicals next year.

So, I’d better get back to work…

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