I land with a thud, my behind hitting something soft and comfortable. I barely have time to catch my breath before a small mountain of loose paper and notebooks falls upon me and buries me in its depths. It takes a few moments to claw my way out of the pile of paper. The papers surrounding me are familiar; they were once loose papers that filled my flat in Holly Street. Each was a draft of a post or idea I had jotted down for safekeeping.
Once I clawed my way out of the pile, I looked around. I was sitting in Tansy’s parlor. Tansy was sitting across from me, cup of tea in one hand, saucer in the other.

“Right on schedule,” she said, not even looking up from her tea. “Most folk knock before enterin’, but I suppose fallin’ through a rift of your own procrastination counts.”

“That was uncalled for, Tansy,” I said annoyed, shoveling the last of the bits of paper from my chair. “If you wanted to talk to me in person, you could have sent an invitation or, better yet, come to my apartment.”

“Oh please,” she sniffed, setting her tea down with a clink. “I did send an invite — three of ‘em, in fact. You probably lost ‘em under that glacier of half-finished nonsense you call a floor. And your apartment? I wouldn’t set foot in that firetrap unless I fancied bein’ buried alive in plot bunnies and coffee-stained to-do lists. This”—she gestured to the avalanche now carpeting her floral rug—“this was the only way to get your attention. You ignore polite knocks, but you do answer when your own mess drags you by the collar. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Fair enough,” I said, still annoyed. “So what’s so urgent that you had to open a portal under my feet as I was writing for the Feengrenze Historia?”

“This,” Tansy said, leveling a finger at me, “is an intervention.”

“What?” I said, blinking.

“I said it’s an intervention, luv,” she repeated firmly. “You’ve been workin’ yourself into a right little ghost—up at all hours, wringin’ your brain dry like a teabag on its fourth steep. You need a break before you crack your quill or your skull.”

“I don’t need a vacation, Tansy,” I retorted. “I get plenty of rest, that’s what the Historia is for.”

She raised an eyebrow so sharp it could’ve sliced bread. “If writin’ twenty hours a week on top of a nine-to-five tech slog is your idea of rest, then you’ve got a screw loose and no mistake.”

“That’s just plain mean, Tansy,” I said defensively.

“How many cups o’ tea’ve you had today?”

“Six cups, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” I snapped.

“Mmhm. And when’s the last time you had the faintest clue where that next link in the Feengrenze adventure path was goin’, eh?”

“It’ll come up eventually. I just need to find the right concept and the right words.”

She gave me a look so dry it could parch paint. “And what about that stack of books? Old School Renaissance, fantasy, writin’ advice? Collectin’ dust like cursed tomes in a wizard’s loo.”

“I’ll get to them eventually, once I find the time,” I muttered.

“Oh, and your hobbies? Robotics? Model railroading? Bit o’ tinkerin’? Ringin’ any bells or are those buried under the fifteen tabs of ‘just one more blog edit’?”

“I can’t find the time since I’m writing or thinking about writing every free moment I have,” I said, arms crossed now, fully entrenched in my indignation.

“My point exactly,” she said, folding her arms with a smug little smirk. “You need a vacation, and you’re goin’ to have one—whether you fancy it or not. I’ve already worked a bit of magic and reserved you the royal suite at the Grand Caerwaul Bay Resort. Five stars, sea view, and a bed that doesn’t squeak when you breathe near it. Oh—and I may have slipped Lord Finnius Tarlac a favor to ensure you stay put in Caerwaul Bay. He owes me one, poor soul.”

“This is absurd. I do not need a vacation,” I protested.

“Tough,” she said, sipping her tea with supreme satisfaction. “Because you’re getting one.”

A portal opened above me with a shimmering whum, and I was lifted from the floor in a swirling column of loose paper.

“Be sure to bring me back a souvenir,” she called after me, smiling smugly over the rim of her teacup as I vanished into the air.

I hurtled through the portal, flailing briefly, before landing with a soft whump on my back in an Adirondack chair. Faint sea breezes caressed my face. I looked around. I was sitting on a deck beneath a striped umbrella. Before me, the Feyglimmer sea sparkled in hues of lavender and turquoise. Down the coast, white sand beaches gleamed under the sun, dotted with beachgoers and colorful parasols. Farther off was a resort town, all weathered shingles and flower boxes. To my left, a string of mansions stood like maritime royalty, their towers and cupolas catching the light.

I looked behind me. “Oh dear,” I muttered, staring up at the grand facade of a New England-style resort that loomed behind me—and at the 50-something man in a white leisure suit with a parrot on his shoulder, flanked by a pair of sun-kissed waitresses with trays of fruity drinks.

“Can I get you anything, my good lord?” Lord Tarlac asked, his smile gleaming like the buttons on his jacket.

“No, Mr. Tarlac, I would like some alone time,” I said, defeated.

“Very well,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly. With a wave of his hand, his little retinue turned and departed down the deck, parrot squawking once in farewell.

I stood up, walked to the railing, and gave my surroundings a long, slow scan. The sun was warm. The air was sweet with salt and magic. Somewhere, children laughed and waves crashed softly. I sighed.

“Well things have gone south,” I said to myself.

All joking aside, I need a break.

Publishing a post a week — some stretching to 50 pages — isn’t exactly a sustainable habit, as personal experience has recently reminded me. I need time to refill the creative well: to dream up new ideas, level up my design chops by diving into the OSR, and tame the chaos lurking on my hard drive (my apartment may be tidy, but my folders are a digital avalanche).

I also plan to give the blog a fresh coat of paint. If things look a bit “under construction” while I’m away, that’s why.

That’s all for now. I’ll be back by the end of July. And if you find yourself wandering the beaches of Carewaul Bay, don’t be shy — say hi.