Or at any rate, when there is no room up on the hill, we write. I've cranked out over 10,000 words of short fiction in the past three or four days. A novelette, a short story, and about half of another short story. Today, I'll probably work on revisions to the lost colony steampunk religious novella, "The Stars Do Not Lie", though I may also wrap up the half-story. (For a variety of reasons that piece needs to go into the drawer a while, I just don't want to leave it unfinished.)
Having just finished drafting Kalimpura last week, this feels odd. Even by my admittedly weird standards. But apparently Fred is very tired of his month of chemo-enforced silence. And afraid of what will come the next time I'm scanned and checked.
So now we write. And keep writing until we can't. The flood won't last, but it's entertaining me, at least.