Return from a long, refreshing hiatus

So you may or may not have noticed that I took a few months off. From the blog, at any rate. I had a job over the summer and decided to get a good academic start to this school year, so I've laid off the blogging portion of my existence and focused on writing, school, and reading. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, either. Just different.

Anyway, I thought I'd pop in and let you know that I'm not, in fact, dead, and that neither is this blog. In fact, I've made a lot of progress on Codename Eagle Chick and am preparing to enter MSFV's Baker's Dozen contest next week! Exciting stuff.

For the contest, I will submit the log line:

When a Secret Service agent tracks down the president’s missing son, he finds him in hiding with a battered CIA recruit, an overly-suave CIA operative, and a lesbian, Irish coffee-loving tech guru who’s their only connection with the enigmatic intelligence powerhouse named Luthor. Together, they have to find “the faction” that wants the president’s son dead and stop their plan to profit from a potential world war with the U.S. and China at its center. (75 words)

I'll also submit the first 250 words:

“Not the best wake up I’ve ever had,” I thought to myself as I fidgeted against the rope binding my hands. And then I remembered a morning in Istanbul that was actually very similar and shook my head. Gavin would be ashamed; my memory was off.

But that had been a four-star hotel room with a very pleasant Turk, whereas now I was in a dim room, naked, standing on tiptoes, and suspended by my wrists from the ceiling above. I stayed still, breathed steadily, ignored the goosebumps that glanced over my skin, and listened. No shoes tapped, no voices sighed, no hands fidgeted: nothing made a sound. I was alone. I let out a sigh of relief and started the process of getting the hell out of there.

My eyes refused to adjust to the blackness. I put my weight on one toe and stretched out my other leg, feeling around for something. Finally, my ankle struck something soft, something that moved. With more tentative examination as I balanced on a sore toe, I found it was a stray swivel chair. It would be tricky for what I had in mind, but I could manage it.

I stretched my body to hook the chair and bring it closer. I winced; my abdomen was sore, injured somehow.

I didn’t remember any of this. Was it a training exercise? I’d heard about intense field exercises, and I’d been through some myself, but this . . . was it torture endurance training, maybe?

Yes, I know, it's 251 words. Shh! Don't tell. Feel free to let me know what you think in the comments. All critique is welcome, as always.

So what's new with you guys? How was your writing summer? Have you also had to make changes recently as regards your lifestyle to make room for writing?