Sarah Wynde's Blog, page 27

Blue Ridge Parkway and Bandits Roost

On Sunday morning, I started off bright and early from Otter Creek, on the road by 8AM. I’m not going to say that I was running away from the smell of sewage, but the knowledge that Sunday is often a day when people leave campgrounds, and people often dump their tanks upon departure, definitely factored into my swift escape.

I was glad I did, however, because the Blue Ridge Parkway was absolutely stunning at that hour. I stopped at multiple scenic overlooks, mostly by myself because it was so early, and admired the breathtaking views. I took a bunch of photos, but none of them come anywhere close to capturing the beauty. And I’m starting to think it was a mistake to let the puppy chew on my phone — I’ve cleaned the camera lens, but my photos, eh. Anyway, this is the best of many bad shots of the glorious morning.

[image error]A scenic overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway

I stopped at the first visitors center I came to and read about the history of the road. The ranger there also gave me a map and explained why GPS is so completely useless: apparently, because commercial vehicles aren’t allowed on the parkway, Google has never mapped it. That explains why my phone kept trying to send me other places.

Although probably my phone would have kept trying to send me other places anyway — the parkway is definitely the slow way from Virginia to North Carolina. After four hours, I’d gone about 100 miles. And it was starting to get not fun. Seriously, not fun.

[image error]A very foggy, not-so-scenic overlook

This shot is an excellent representation of what the road was like by noon. Forget the views, I was worried about whether I’d see the curves of the road in time to not drive off the road.

I stopped at a non-scenic overlook — that one with the tree, actually — to see if I could wait it out, but after forty-five minutes or so, that didn’t feel like an option. The fog just seemed to be getting thicker. So I gave up on reaching the campground I’d hoped to make it to (Linhall Falls) and looked for a closer option. And sadly, I had to look for an option with electricity, because the generator wouldn’t start so I couldn’t get the battery to charge. (Sigh. I’m hoping the generator problem was the elevation, which has been the problem every time it’s refused to start in the past (on two separate occasions in Arizona), but I haven’t tested it yet.)

Fortunately, there was an Army Corps of Engineers campground about an hour away, so I headed to Bandits Roost Campground in Wilkesboro, North Carolina. The campground is a typical campground — lots of sites, reasonably close together — but as with all ACoE campgrounds, there’s water nearby. If I had a neighbor, I’d be looking into their trailer window, but as it is, I’ve got a view of the lake (or reservoir, not sure which) beyond some trees. Zelda, for some reason, was super enthusiastic about the smells of this campground: we went for a walk when we got here and it took us half an hour to make it around the tiniest loop. Her nose never left the ground, but her tail was happy, happy. Unfortunately, they’ve got a water pump problem so the showers aren’t working. But the electricity is, so I’m not complaining. I turned the heat on to 70 this morning, and it was so nice to be warm.

My spot was only available for one night, however, so I’m getting back on the road this morning. I seriously debated abandoning my slow route plans entirely and just heading to Florida as quickly as possible yesterday — I was so tired from seven hours on the road and really unenthusiastic about adding any time at all to the driving I’ve got to do in the next week. But I am literally less than three hours away from Asheville, so I am going to persist. Hopefully not too much driving today, followed by a couple of low-driving (or no driving!) days and I will be ready for the long burst back to Florida.

Otter Creek Campground, Blue Ridge National Parkway

My first goal when I headed off on Friday morning was not propane: it was cell service/internet. Without GPS, I had no idea where I was going. Serenity has a compass on the dash and I used it to keep myself roughly oriented south-east, since I knew that’s where I would want to wind up, but I wandered around winding back roads of the forest for a while before stumbling into Shenandoah National Park. 

It was a gorgeous day for it. It was foggy in the forest, all shadowed green trees with wisps of cloud hovering between them, a perfect setting for a fairy tale or a horror movie. But as the road wound up, I drove out of the fog and into pure sunshine, with the light reflecting off the bank of clouds beneath me. So beautiful. Like being on an airplane, that moment when you truly feel like you’ve entered the sky, except that my sky was still surrounded by trees and nature. I tried, of course, to capture the beauty by stopping at scenic overlooks to take pictures, but it’s impossible to do it justice. Plus, as with all national parks, half a dozen people or more were always admiring the same view/cluttering up the scene. Oh, well. It was a chance to add to my collection of Pictures of People Taking Pictures. (Someday I will make a slideshow of those.) 

As promised by the National Parks Guide, I saw white-tailed deer and plenty of birds. A blue jay darted across the road with a flash of his blue wings and made me gasp. Literally, because I thought I was going to hit it and that would have been awful. Fortunately, I missed or he missed, and the next second he was gone. Eventually, I found the visitors center, watched the movie about the founding of the park, got a stamp in my parks passport, and spent the next hour on the internet, catching up on my email, posting to my blog, responding to messages, and using my gps and camping apps to figure out my next steps.

How did I forget it was a holiday weekend? It just hadn’t occurred to me. But all the campgrounds in Shenandoah were full, plus I still needed propane, so I headed south, thinking I’d try to make it halfway to Asheville. The Skyline drive in Shenandoah was beautiful, but the search for propane put me on 81 and it was horrible — stop-and-go traffic in spots, always crowded, always a generic highway. Not the worst generic highway, but a highway is a highway is a highway. Within an hour, all of my morning delight was gone in the reminder of why I am sick of driving. I pulled over at the first rest stop I could find and revised my plan. It took another hour, but I got off 81, found the Blue Ridge Parkway, and took the very last spot at the first campground on the parkway, Otter Creek Campground. 

The very last spot is lovely. For parking purposes, it’s tiny — I actually had my doubts whether the van would fit when I looked at it. But there’s plenty of room for a tent or even two, a picnic table, a fire ring, and it overlooks the creek. The campground has a dump station and potable water, so I emptied my tanks and refilled my tanks, and settled in. And super nice people. I chatted with a park volunteer, Bobby, for a solid hour — set up my chairs and everything — about campgrounds in Florida & the Great Smokeys, writing, and the camping life. When it was getting dark, the campground host wandered by to let me know that at 5:30AM, he’d be setting up an extension cord on his picnic table for people who needed a little electricity for coffeemakers in the morning. 

On the other hand, the very last spot does have one rather big problem, so I will say, for the sake of any reader who might actually be using my blog for campground advice: avoid #68.

[image error]

If I was a Photoshop maven — well, and if I owned Photoshop — I could probably tweak the light balance on this photo so that you could read the words on the sign. But they say Dump Station (or something similar). Yes, the place where people pour their sewage into the ground is a stone’s throw from my campsite and yes, that means the whiff of sewage is a regular guest. Not my favorite natural smell ever.

I had intended not to stop for longer than a night until I made it to Asheville, but given the holiday weekend situation, I changed my plans and paid for two nights. But the Blue Ridge Mountains are apparently just as bad for internet as the George Washington National Forest was — no cell signal or internet at all, not even a flicker — so I’ll probably be posting this on Monday. 

I also discovered something really obvious at Otter Creek — something I should have figured out a long time ago. I always have a hard time writing in parking lots, and busy campgrounds are almost as bad. It’s because they’re busy, obviously. It was a big campground, full for the holiday weekend, and I simply could not settle into my imagination at all. People wandered by, kids played in the creek, the aforementioned dump station meant I got to watch multiple other people’s dumping techniques… and abruptly, the writing was just as bad as when I drove east this summer. I was in the middle of a major scene and I couldn’t find any words. So frustrating. 

But Z and I had a really nice walk through the woods — the longest walk she’s been willing to take for a while. We also waded in the creek, although only she got her feet wet. So I guess I wasn’t wading, I was hopping along the stepping stones.

Little Fort Campground, George Washington National Forest

When I set off from Allentown on Monday, my plan was to take a slow drive south, seeing the scenery along the way. I had my sights on a small National Forest campground for my first night, to be followed by a drive through Shenandoah, then more driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway. With overnight stops along the way, of course. By the weekend, I’d be in North Carolina. I’d explore Asheville and the Great Smoky Mountains, maybe check out the ruby mine in Cherokee, just because I liked the sapphire mine in Montana so much. 

In other words, I’d be a tourist. 

The only problem with this plan is that the book isn’t finished, and I really truly want to get it done. 

I made it to my first destination: Little Fort Campground in the George Washington National Forest. It’s a tiny campground, only nine sites, and it has no amenities. No water, no hook-ups, no showers, no dump station, no garbage service. Also no internet access and no cell service. It’s also free, so you know, you get what you pay for. 

Except not really, because it is beautiful and treed and peaceful. Not a view, exactly — it’s just a spot in the middle of a forest — but out of every window I see trees, just starting to pick up their autumn color. The campground seems to be a base point for people with ATVs, so occasionally the noise of humankind is pretty loud. But mostly it’s crickets. Literal crickets, lots and lots of them. At night, the only lights I can see are the ones created by the van and by nature. Well, and once a campfire from people across the way. 

When I got here on Monday, I had my choice of three sites: one right next to the check-in board that was so tiny the van would barely squeeze in; one relatively sloped site; and one that was the nicest spot in the campground — a pull-through spot, with steps up to a level square with a picnic table, fire ring, and paved tent spot. 

I feel like it would be good to explore my reservations about taking the nicest spot with a therapist sometime — really, why did I hesitate? Why did I feel like I should leave that spot to some person with a bigger camper who would need a pull-through? Why did I feel guilty, in a first-come, first-served campground, about choosing the best option of the available options? I don’t know, but I did. However, I overcame the guilt and took the good spot. 

And then I stayed. Because honestly, I feel like I should see the National Parks, since I’m so close. And I feel like I should take the long scenic drives, and admire the beauty of our autumn countryside. And I feel like I should explore Asheville, a town that I’ve been told I’d love so many times. 

But what I want to do is finish writing APM. So for the past two days, I’ve played with words and stared into space and eaten nice food and taken occasional brief walks with Z and enjoyed my life. Ever so much, enjoyed my life. 

I’m writing this on Thursday, but you’re not going to read it on Thursday, because I have no internet access. When I went to sleep last night, I was thinking today was the day I’d drive on. Shenandoah, Blue Ridge Parkway, etc. Also internet access for checking email and messages, posting blog posts. But I’m not going to. Maybe tomorrow if I run out of water or propane or finish writing the book. (The first is possible but unlikely; the second is possible and somewhat likely; the third is highly unlikely.) Instead, I’m going to keep playing with words and appreciate the sounds of crickets. 

[image error]Spot #1 at Little Fort Campground.

Updated to add: propane was the deciding factor. But before I left, I had such a nice experience. I realized I was going to have to go late Thursday afternoon, while heating up some soup for dinner. I was a little bummed, but accepting. Obviously, it was still a choice: I could have stayed without propane. But I would have had to run the generator to make coffee in the morning and I am not capable of being that rude to my neighbors. No one likes being woken up by a growling gas generator when camping.  

So I packed up the van so I could be ready to go first thing in the morning. Everything was stowed, I was mostly all set to go… and a late arrival drove into the campground. A truck, pulling a trailer. Not huge, but the only site in the campground that he might possibly fit into was mine. He drove in, took the loop, was making his way out, and I hopped out of the van and flagged him down. Ten minutes later, I was moved into the tiny site across the way, the one next to the check-in board, and a very happy camper — who’d been on the road for eleven hours — was settling into my site. He was grateful and the serendipity felt like the universe telling me it was time to move on. It was such nice timing. 

And no, the book isn’t done. It took another unexpected turn, which… well, it’s an unexpected book, I guess. But I spent quite a bit of time wavering about this unexpected turn. A paragraph that sums up the dilemma: 

“Fen fumbled for the crystal in her pocket, unable to tear her eyes away from Ghost. Clearly, she had fallen asleep and woken up in some bad B movie from the 1950s. This couldn’t possibly be real.” 

Fortunately, I eventually decided that bad B movies can be highly entertaining and I might as well stick with enjoying the ride. “Still giggling” remains among my favorite reader feedback ever, after all!

Gratitudes

On this relatively bleak Monday morning — gray and gloomy, and the kind of day where putting the spoons away includes bumping my head on the counter, and reaching for the coffee means spilling tea everywhere — I am reminding myself to breathe and be grateful.

Breathe and be grateful. Pretty much the two best pieces of advice ever.

So what am I grateful for? Well, I am grateful that there are no signs of a leak to go with the continuously running water pump. That’s a good thing. I am grateful that even though my battery seems to have mysteriously depleted its charge in the night well past recommended levels (8.5 for those who know what I’m talking about! 8.5!!!), it still seems to work (witness the continuously running water pump.) I am grateful that even though the tank level monitor appears to be completely screwed up, I never really used it much anyway.

I am grateful that the stomach flu that had me miserable throughout Saturday night and most of Sunday was short-lived and probably a food reaction. Yay to eating solid food again. I am also so, so grateful that my tanks were empty enough that they didn’t come anywhere close to overflowing and I didn’t have to dump them while sick.

I am grateful that my roof isn’t leaking in the rain, I am grateful that it’s warm enough that even though I’ve run out of propane, I’m not uncomfortable. Oh, and it occurs to me that maybe I haven’t run out of propane, maybe I’m just relying on a tank level monitor that’s screwed up at the moment, ha.

I am grateful that Zelda is snoring at my feet and ate breakfast this morning and that we went for a good walk in the dark before 6AM, because I was feeling better and she was lively.

I am grateful that even though I haven’t finished writing A Precarious Magic (and that seriously bums me out), I like what I’ve written and I think it’s fun, so I’m not intending to start revising from scratch just because I’m still struggling with the ending.

I am grateful that even though I didn’t make it to the Shenandoah National Park on schedule, I have a perfectly comfortable street to be parked in for the moment. And that even though the weather is not lovely for driving today, it’s not lousy either, just somewhere in between.

So much to be grateful for! And yet, somehow, it’s still a struggle…

Killing Time

Last night, I was sitting in a Walmart parking lot while the rain beat down on the van roof, snuggled under my blankets with the dog on my feet, and I was killing time. I was annoyed with myself for killing time, because there really wasn’t any need for it. I had everything I needed to use my time productively — to work on my book, to answer emails, to write a blog post, even to cook a healthy dinner.

But I just didn’t want to.

I was on my way from Boston to Allentown, my second day of several hours of driving in a row, and the rain was so oppressive that I’d pulled over to wait it out. That turned into spending the afternoon in a parking lot, which then stretched into an evening in a parking lot and a night in a parking lot.

And for whatever reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than… wait. Kill time. I opened comfort rereads and closed them again. I played iPad games and quit out of them. I snacked on things that didn’t require dishes or cooking. I felt like was sitting in a doctor’s office, waiting for my name to be called, and I just couldn’t focus on anything. Or maybe in an airport, waiting to board the plane. I was too busy waiting to get anything done.

I was annoyed with myself. It’s not like I think every minute of my life has to be packed with productivity, but I’ve got plenty to do, including finishing a book. I think I can probably blame it on the driving — even though I’d only been on the road for three hours or so, driving tires me out. But I am on the road again and I do want to be productive while I’m on the road, so I’m just going to have to do better. No more killing time! (She types, having just spent at least two hours watching shapes drop from the sky in an iPad game. But at least I opened the computer up eventually!)

At any rate, today I left my parking lot, had a very pretty drive through a scenic area of the Catskills, and made my way to Allentown. The big event of the afternoon was that I convinced my niece (who just started high school) to cut my hair. As I said to her, it’s just hair. I envisioned her taking off an inch or two in about two minutes, snip, snip, snip. Instead, she was painstaking and careful, but I failed to warn her that wet hair gets shorter when it dries. I now have a very cute A-line bob and my hair is the shortest it’s been in many years. Ha. I can’t even put it into a ponytail. She did a great job, though. I might try to convince her to help me dye the tips turquoise tomorrow, if we have time.

[image error]One last Maine picture, before I leave it behind. The fog on the water in the morning.

On Sunday, I’ll head south. I’m going to go slowly — no miserably long driving days, just a few hours and then a rest day — in the hope that I can finish the book while I’m on the road. I’m so close. Another week would have done it, but traveling is such a distraction. It’s hard to write and drive at the same time. Oh, well, I’ll get there eventually — I always do!

Best of September 2019

The light at sunrise here is so beautiful. The moment when the sun crests the hill of trees, directly across the river from the van window, and the true light reaches the water is a moment. Not the slow change from night to day, not the slow lightening of the sky, but a specific two minute period where suddenly the van is golden and the leaves of the trees are outlined in color, a translucent bright green instead of the usual mass. The color of the light is different than at any other time. It’s not that it’s brighter, I don’t think — and actually the shadows are very long, so no, it’s not brighter, it’s a contrast between darkness and brightness, but it’s a glow. And the fog usually has its ghost tendrils dancing on the water, but they are still in shadow, so the trees and lawn are bright and green and golden, but just beyond them is misty shadowed gloom. Yeah, it’s cool as anything, and truly beautiful. 

[image error]Not sunrise. You can tell because the river is not shadowed and scattered with wisps of fogs. But none of my sunrise pictures capture how pretty it is . This one at least gets the light on the leaves almost right. Almost.

And for 30 days in a row, I’ve gotten to see it. Well, more or less, some mornings were overcast. But how do I pick the best out of all those days when they were really all very much alike? Much time spent sitting at the computer, but not at all in a bad way. I spent much of July sitting at the computer, pretty much annoyed and hating everything I was doing. This was all sitting at the computer mostly loving what I was doing. (Until the last two days which have been really terrible, frustrating, annoying writing days. More about that in a minute or two.) Some walks with the dog, although not usually very long walks. A little bit of kayaking. The occasional trip into town for groceries, propane, tank dumping, and once, a delightful meal with a friend of a friend. Some good food, although living without a kitchen sink became annoying enough that I basically moved back to van-life cooking. Quinoa bowls and sous vide protein for the win. But always a beautiful view, almost always lovely weather. Even the rainy days were nice because they were cozy in the van. 

There were some days that stick out. I had my worst ever dump station experience, a true disaster, sewage everywhere. Ugh. That was not the best day.  I binged on reading for a few days, accompanied by warm baths, and those were nice. That baked cod with goat cheese I made was delicious, and I had gluten-free chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream as dessert with it and that was all very satisfying, even though the cake was so-so.  

But honestly, I think the best day(s) were the ones when the writing was going well. There was a day when I — realized something? Made a discovery? Had an inspiration? Well, lightning struck. I had an idea. A good idea, that once I had it seemed so damn obvious that I couldn’t believe I wasn’t heading toward that idea all along. And I’m sorry to be so convoluted in my talking about it, but I don’t want to get too spoiler-y. It’s not a twist, exactly, but it’ll be more fun if you’re as surprised by it as I was. Anyway, conveniently enough — or in one of life’s lovely coincidences — that was also the weekend when I saw the shooting star. So I’m picking the weekend of September 21-22 as my best days of the month of September 2019. 

And moving on — I only have a few more days here and I really, really want to finish writing this book before my life becomes disrupting. But the last couple of days were major writing struggle. I wound up cutting out a section/plan because it was just too ambitious. Yesterday I wrote in circles for hours — literally, hundreds of words going nowhere — and finally gave up and went and took a bath. Having a bathtub available is so lovely. I’m going to miss it. But the time spent staring into space while immersed in warm water made me realize that I needed to let go of one of the ending scenes that I’d been planning all along. I was trying to get the characters there during my writing in circles, and it just wasn’t happening. So I’m hoping for better things for today’s words — at least I can see where I shouldn’t be going now — but I’m feeling anxious and stressed about whether I can actually finish this. I have to remind myself that endings are always a challenge, always hard for me, but I so, so, so don’t want this to turn into another Grace. Word by word, right? One at a time, that’s all it takes. In terms of actual word count goals, I’ve hit them — if it was just a numbers game, I could call the story done. Alas, readers rather like conclusions (as do I), so somehow I have to get there. Time to get started on that! 

Bad Coffee

I bought cheap coffee at the grocery store last week. 

This is not an effective cost-cutting measure. 

I should do the math — I saved probably a total of $6, which earned me deep crankiness three mornings in a row and, if I keep drinking it, will earn me deep crankiness probably another 40 or 50 mornings in a row. Mornings shouldn’t begin with the thought, “This is bad coffee,” followed by, “This really tastes terrible,” followed by, “What is wrong with this, was there soap in my water?” Followed by a slew of other thoughts, all of them same ilk, all leading to a general sense of deep dissatisfaction as I head into my day. 

So my $6 saved is a very, very expensive $6 earned. Coffee = small pleasure = worth investing a few extra pennies in. Although the coffee shop $5 latte has definitely became a rare treat in my life, because that’s too expensive. An extra fifteen cents a cup, definitely worth it. An extra $4 a cup, definitely not. Except during gingerbread latte season, which is coming up soon, yay!

In actual news, I’m still house-sitting in Maine, still loving it, still doing absolutely nothing except writing and reading and taking Z for the occasional walk. I think, “Freeport, fish store, lobsters, botanical gardens, hiking trails, kayaking…” on a regular basis and then I think “maybe tomorrow,” and turn my attention back to my computer. “Maybe when Fen is done,” is probably the real answer. I do have to try to get to the grocery store today, though, because my food supply is down to rice, quinoa, salad greens and sauerkraut. Oh, and some leftover lemon-garlic mussels over rice noodles, which I will probably have for lunch. And an apple. I always have an emergency apple available. 

I did go kayaking one morning this week. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t resist. This is how beautiful it is: that’s the view from the end of the driveway. The entry point to the water is right by that white chair. 

[image error]

I’m surprised I’m not in that kayak every single day, but I try to hit my word count first and then it’s low tide and muddy and then it’s going on toward evening. So it goes — three kayak outings in three weeks is still a lot more than my usual average. 

Speaking of word count, though, I should get back to those words. But here’s a snippet, spoiler-free… 

What could she do with a little, a very little, pure magic? 

She opened her fingers again and gazed at it. A key to a door? A tiny bird, like the invitation she’d received in Syl Var, that they could use to send a message to Kaio and Gaelith? Healing energy to repair the damage if Luke burned himself? 

No, none of those. 

“Be a knife,” she said to the magic, picturing a blade of energy, like a miniature light saber. The blue rose from her palm, uncoiling, and shaped itself into a thin straight line, much more stiletto than saber, perfectly balanced on her palm. It quivered and she held very still. 

The blade she’d imagined was a lethal wire of light. She would much prefer not to lose any fingers to it. 

Top Secret

(Not really.)

But I spent far too long working on a sensible way to share a preview of A Precarious Magic, the long-awaited sequel to A Lonely Magic this afternoon. It was probably not a good use of my time.

That said, I’d already hit my word count for the day, so I could have been playing some silly iPad game. (My latest is Homescapes.) What I truly should have been doing was kayaking, but the tide was very low so I would have needed to wade out through quite a bit of mud to get the kayak into the water and that did not seem very appealing.

So, yeah, anyway: Chapter One of A Precarious Magic

I hope you enjoy it and it makes you want to read more! It hasn’t actually been edited yet — well, except by me — so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to let me know. Don’t feel obligated, though. I will probably catch them in one of my innumerable editing passes, starting in October. Or maybe November.

You will note that there is absolutely no description on the link. I’m going to guess that writing the book blurb on this one will take me days of hair-pulling misery. Book descriptions are hard to write and this one — well, I’ll figure it out when I get there. Fortunately, I’m not there yet so that’s a problem for another day.

In the meantime, I’m having a delightful time with the actual writing. I said to a neighbor here back at the beginning of September that the end game is always like finishing a jigsaw puzzle when you have room for twenty pieces but there are fifty pieces left. Well, my fifty pieces are all slotting themselves into place quite nicely. I would honestly think I’d planned it instead of just discovering it as I wrote.

I am also loving Maine. It is crazily beautiful where I am. The night sky is so gorgeous — lots of stars to see, not hidden behind light pollution. I even saw a shooting star Saturday night, which always feels magical. The leaves are all falling now and when the wind blows, they skitter across the pavement like some musical instrument you’ve never heard of. The trees across the river that were a block of green three weeks ago are now scattered with color — still mostly green but with bursts of deep red and yellow, and on my walks, I spot other leaves in scarlet and bright orange. The air feels clean, the water tastes clean… it’s lovely here. And this weekend was toasty warm, which was nice for me — I was starting to get a little worried last week that it would get cold before I finished writing. I don’t think that’s going to happen now, but I’m definitely starting to plan my trip south.

I keep trying to take a good picture, but none of them reflect what I’m seeing. Maybe it’s just impossible to capture the light, the air, the sound of the leaves, the colors. But here’s a panorama from the door of the van.

[image error]Zelda enjoyed the weekend sun, too!

Dear Self, Have Fun

I looked outside this morning and the fog was so dense that I couldn’t see past the middle of the driveway. I thought, “Oooh, how beautiful, I want to go for a walk,” and then I paused and thought for a minute. 

The river has fog every morning, little wisps of it that trickle along the water’s surface like ghosts. I’ve enjoyed watching it and I’ve also noticed that the colder the morning, the more fog there seems to be on the river. That’s not entirely true — there was one crisp, clear, sparkly morning that reminded me of the taste of autumn apples and it wasn’t foggy at all. But mostly, fog & chill, they go together. 

So before I opened the van door, I asked Alexa for a weather report. Ha. 36 degrees! It is time to dig out the winter coat, I suppose. Fortunately, my time in Arcata seems to have overwritten the Florida in me or maybe my upstate New York roots are finally returning — the cold hasn’t been bothering me much, although I am definitely not spending as much time sitting outside writing as I imagined I would. That’s okay, though, because the view from the van window is lovely and I’m perfectly happy to be cozy inside my van while I write. 

By about 7:30, the sun shining through had turned the fog into a mass of gold at the end of the driveway. At 8, it was dancing wisps along the river again. And now, 9:30, it’s gone, but all the colors of the day are bright and intense — blues, greens, even the oranges of the leaves in the tree out front. 

I have noticed that the cold is making me crave carbs. Yesterday I was determined to eat salads: I’ve got mixed greens, arugula, radishes, cucumber, and pea pods, all closing in on a week old or older. I hate wasting food, so it was time to eat my veggies. But lunchtime rolled around and well, a warm rice bowl with tomatoes from the garden, oregano (also from the garden), and goat cheese just seemed so much nicer. I could have thrown a few other vegetables into it but I just wasn’t in the mood. For dinner, another rice bowl with steak, cilantro, and chili garlic sauce won over green salad. I think my mistake was buying summer vegetables — food I associate with cold salads on hot days — when it just doesn’t feel like summer to me. Today, salad for lunch. Definitely. Well, maybe. 

In writing news, my word count for the month has finally hit positive numbers. Not much in the way of numbers, but positive ones. That sounds terrible, but it’s really not. When I got here, I started reading from the beginning and then revising. Basically, I just completed a first revision round, even though I haven’t written the ending yet. If this was Grace, that would have taken me six months and I’d be thinking about starting over again from scratch, but instead I can say that I like what I’ve got. I’ve got to find the ending still, but I’m going to get there, and soon, too. Although in terms of useless notes, the last phrase in my final file of notes is “sacrificial volcano virgin?” What the heck? I have no idea what I was thinking there. 

I read a useful book this week: Dear Writer, You Need to Quit, by Becca Syme. I look at a lot of writing books on Amazon, and often read the Look Inside, then either turn away or think, eh, well, maybe someday. Sometimes I add them to my wish list. Sometimes I buy them, and add them to my immense To Be Read pile. This one, I read the Look Inside, purchased the book, then read the book. That almost never happens. But I’m glad I did. The book does not actually suggest that one should quit writing, although she does suggest quitting lots of other things, including “Quit Trying to Be Like Everyone Else” and “Quit Focusing on Your Weaknesses.” Were those my two favorite chapters? Maybe. 

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After I finished, I reread Cici. Cici is the only book of mine that is a comfort reread for me, a story where on a rainy or a sad or a sick day, I read just so I can be part of that other world for a while. She makes me laugh. She still makes me laugh, even though I’ve read her dozens of times and know every twist — actually every phrase! — inside and out. And sure, I get critical the way I do with my other books — clunky line, repetition, a little slow here, etc.,  — the editor brain never shuts off. But not in a way that ruins my enjoyment. 

Cici has sold less than 300 copies, earned considerably less than $1000. From a business point of view, it makes absolutely no sense to write more books like Cici. But Cici brings me joy. And you know, life is better when you focus on what brings you joy and not on what earns you money. Obviously, starvation, homelessness, pain & suffering are all not likely to bring me joy, so I’d like to avoid total penury. But for the moment I’m going to accept the permission to quit trying to be like everyone else (not that I ever tried very hard, tbh) and write what brings me joy. 

I’m also going to quit ignoring the past. (Another chapter I liked.) My favorite of my books = my fastest-written book. My most well-reviewed book = my second fastest-written book. When I let go and let my intuition take me places, it takes me to interesting stories. When I try to follow the rules — three-act structure, character development, instigating events, blah-blah-blah — well, I’m not going to say the stories are bad, because I don’t think any of my stories are bad, and if I did I wouldn’t have published them. But I don’t gain anything from writing painstakingly and plotting carefully. 

Does Fen change in A Precarious Magic? Does she go from one place at the beginning to another at the end? Does she have an appropriate character arc for a main character? 

Honestly, do I care? Is she fun to read and do I have fun writing about her? Yes and yes. That’s the only question I’m going to focus on today and tomorrow and for as many future days as I can remember this.

Change is hard, so I know I will forget. Which means I’ll go back to letting the undercurrents of worry — (Will people like this? Will I disappoint them? Will they criticize me?) — push me around. I don’t want to care about those things and I try not to think about them, but they are much too firmly rooted in the instincts of every Former Good Girl for me to ever truly let go of them. But I’ve added a note, QTP, Question the Premise, to my whiteboard and hopefully it will remind me to reread Dear Writer whenever those undercurrents get too strong. 

And now, back to work. I feel like I owe you a snippet for sitting through this, but I’m much too deep into spoiler territory. Would reading the first chapter be fun? Or seeing the cover, maybe? Let me know!

Home sweet home

[image error]My driveway view

I’ve been house-sitting/driveway-camping for about two weeks now. For the first week, I barely went into the house: I did my laundry one day, I used the kitchen a couple times, I showered. I let Z wander around in the backyard and I sat in the backyard chairs and wrote, but I mostly felt like I was camping in a place with a house nearby.

But after going in and out enough times — putting the mail away, watering the plants, washing my dishes — I started to get comfortable. There’s an area off the kitchen that’s basically a fully enclosed porch with two chairs and a lovely view. I sat there and wrote a few days last week, when the temperatures outside made the van less comfortable, while Zelda napped next to me on the fantastic dog bed.

What makes it fantastic? Honestly, I have no idea. I should probably take a picture or at least find out the brand name because Zelda likes this bed so much that she has started telling me she needs to go into the house, for apparently no other reason than that she wants to nap in that dog bed instead of her own (two!) dog beds or the beds in the van. Literally, she will stand at the front door of the house, waiting patiently, until I open it so she can go inside and flop down on the bed.

But as Zelda has gotten more comfortable, so have I. Gradually last week, my whole van kitchen started moving inside. First the instant-pot, then the sous vide cooker, then my varieties of rice, then most of my fridge food. When I went grocery shopping on Friday, I acknowledged that I was cooking in a real kitchen and so I ate incredibly well this weekend. Friday, sockeye salmon with a garlic-dijon-lemon marinade over a bed of quinoa with a side of roasted asparagus. Saturday, baked cod topped with goat cheese, oregano from the garden, and lemon zest, with an asparagus risotto. Yesterday, spicy roasted chicken with mixed green salad. I eat well in the van, but it is so, so nice to have a real kitchen with running water and a vent fan. This kitchen, in particular, has an island that is the best working space I’ve ever had to play with in a kitchen. It makes me want to bake pies and cookies, because it would be so easy to roll out dough on it.

Unfortunately, I had one little disaster, yesterday. Well, or maybe two. The sink started first spraying water from the base of the faucet and then spewing water from the base of the faucet. Now when I turn it on, the water pours out from the base without going up into the spigot at all. Ack! I promptly texted my hosts’ son, asking for guidance, so am waiting to hear from him. Meanwhile, I can’t, of course, use the sink. That would be fine — is fine — except that the water situation was so distracting that I forgot about the chicken liver I was in the midst of sautéing until the smoke detector two rooms away started blaring at me. Double ack! Talk about oblivious — the whole kitchen was smoky and I was so focused on the water I hadn’t even noticed. So I currently have no water from the sink and a pan in serious need of some intensive scrubbing. As my mom would say, if that’s the worst that happens…