September is for beginnings. January traditionally holds that distinction, but September is transformative.

In September, as children, we go back to school, proudly, in our new clothes, our new shoes. We give ourselves permission to begin again. We are older, wiser, more sure of ourselves than we were a few months before. We open ourselves up to the possibilities inherent in that blank slate that is a new school year.

As adults, we breathe in the slightly cooler, slightly crisp air that foretells autumn, and our confidence revives. There is a shift within us. We are moving toward a season of activity. We are energized. We are full of hope. September will lead us into the creativity of October, the synthesis of November, the perfection, in December, of the promise that had its genesis in September.

For me, this September is a real and tangible beginning – a time when I will set in motion my future as a published novelist. This is my time of preparation – of the manuscript, of myself – for the changes that this will entail. Before the end of the year, one of my novels will be ‘out there’ – formally presented to the world. This child of mine – the yield of my thoughts, my intense labor, those precious moments of inspiration, gratification, bliss – will make its debut. Not my first child, but the child I have chosen to be first: the child who will lead the way.