In Between

Last week Peter and I enjoyed a few days on Cape Cod. We bicycled through the dunes near Provincetown, seeing lots of sand, sea grasses, scrub spruce and the occasional breath-taking glimpse of sea. We climbed Pilgrim Tower, which gives a great view over the peninsula. The next day we welcomed flatter grounds to bike on in Harwich and Barnstable, past cranberry bogs and woods. We walked by the ocean in Monomoy wildlife refuge, where we sadly didn't see seals, but happily didn't get caught in the tide.



And I wrote a little. Taking baby steps into a new book, while looking over my laptop to the ocean, was a great way to celebrate finishing, (or what I like to call finishing, though I know there's more work ahead), one manuscript and moving into another. Starting a new place to call home.

Of course this home isn't entirely new. Once again, I'm tearing apart an old novel to find the poetry within, though now I'm working from a manuscript that spent about ten years in a drawer, so the demolition part is fairly painless. I have a deep connection to the story, but when I put the manuscript away I understood the work hadn't yet found its right form. Many pages feel flat. A few offer gems. Here's a house with a frame that can be used.

Now let the sledge hammers swing, even while I keep an eye out for strong pine planks under the dust, corners that look inviting, maybe an amazing beyond belief fireplace that can restored. After a lot of fuss, peering ever so carefully at my last work, I enjoy straightening my back and walking straight ahead into mistakes, striding right on by, although I occasionally bend to mend and tidy.