I took a deep dive into bookbinding. And honestly? It’s main quest-adjacent enough that this might turn into a full-fledged hobby.

I’ll preface this by saying that I bought a bookbinding kit last spring, thinking that it could be a fun rainy day project over the summer break. After some initial excitement, the kids decided, after the kit arrived, of course, that they weren’t interested. Since it never did rain last summer, it’s probably for the best.

But it did rain this month. So. Much. And I was writing a story about bookbinding, after all, so I pulled out the kit, queued up some YouTube videos, and dove in. I rebound a paperback of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop to begin with, then I learned coptic and French link stitches, and made these adorable little notebooks:

After that I attempted my first hardcover, also a notebook:

It was time to put it all together, cut up some sketchbooks, and figure out how print signatures from my home printer, and create a hard-bound, pocket-sized short story. I picked one of my longest short stories and got to work.

And… it was fine? It looked just like a little book. Which, at this point, did not intrigue me in the least. Somewhere along the line, I realized that just because I could make a book like a machine made, I didn’t particularly want to. I liked the open stitching of those few notebooks, I liked the possibilities of what I could do. Of how I can make a book look like the story, how it can be an extension of the art. That maybe, if there’s magic inside the book, there’s space for magic on the outside, too.

I’m still working on that, my next bound story half-finished and a feral, artsy little thing. I pulled out the acorn cap ink I made last year, this odd ink that damaged my fountain pens but leaves this lively swirl when it dries, and the pages have started coming to life. It drew everything together for me. When I write, I get these odd, disconnected ideas that I write into my notebooks because I know they’ll find their purpose in a few years, in another story. And here is this ink I made that appears to have been waiting, just like those story bits.

The biggest nature news is… it rained. It finally rained and rained and rained, just like we so desperately needed. Our little pond went from empty to flooded:

It didn’t last, a day at most, before the thirsty trees and desperate ground slurped it all up, but then it rained some more, enough that the local mushrooms finally made an appearance:

And, oh, there were lovely writing days in all that rain. Of course, some other forms of precipitation also made an appearance:

Which I thought was mean, since we’d only just got mushrooms and now they were all hidden again. But what can you do.

And that’s about it for November, folks. I’d love to hear what you’re up to before the season is lost to busy-ness. My next letter will the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, which seems farther off than close, but will arrive before we know it.

Keep the light close,