Postcard from the wretch (pixel-stained, that is)
All the writer types I know do some kind of gossipy updatery when they go out to commit words so I felt I should do the same.
Anyway, I left Belleuve WA on Saturday morning for Newport OR, a five hour trip by motorcycle. By the time I arrived and we got my parent's motorhome set up on an isolated camping spot it was near to evening. I made myself dinner and settled down in a camp chair with a notepad, some beer, and a cigar and proceeded to do nothing for several hours.
OK. Not true. I thought. I drank beer. I turned some expensive tobacco into a hard, dense, gray ash. What I didn't do was write in my notepad. The weather was perfect and there were little animals doing little animal things, including a humming bird which exhibited a great deal of curiosity about me. Other than that it was perfect solitude.
As it turns out, that was just what I needed. During that space of time I worked out, in considerable detail the over-arching thematic glue of my sekret projekt. (And I still thought it was good stuff the next day, so there!)
This might not seem like much to you, but it was a great breakthrough to me. So I started writing down some notes to clarify things. That was when I got neighbors: Three carloads of them into the next campsite. Initially I was a bit grumpy about it, but after retrieving my iPod and a bottle of scotch I stopped caring and started writing onto the yellow pad. This continued until dark, at which time I retired out of bugs reach into the motorhome and slept the sleep of the just.
The next morning I made coffee and breakfast and made some more marks on the yellow pad. Unfortunately the creative winds of the previous night seemed to have stopped blowing. Since I needed a few things, I rode my bike into the nearest town (Siletz) and went to the store. That was when my parents showed up, wondering if I wanted to join them for lunch. (They saw my motorcycle in front of the store while on their way to my campsite.)
It wasn't my plan, but they are my parents. So we went to a nearby casino (nearby in local terms equals thirty minute drive) and had a nice smorgasbord lunch and I let my dad talk me into losing twenty bucks in a slot machine. (This is why I don't gamble.) I also caught up with email and downloaded a couple of stories in progress I had forgotten to get earlier via the casino's free WiFi. (Free equals not worth twenty bucks, but there you go. Still, props to google docs for being just an Internet connection away.)
Back in my campsite of solitude I was still spinning the creative wheels, so I went for a walk; pausing to order some wood from the campground host. I explored the campground and found a nice trail across the road which I followed for several miles through thick woods before giving up and turning around. By the time I got back my neighbors had left and I had the place to myself again, except for a pile of wood twice as large as I could possibly need. I was also hungry, thirsty and ready to write some more.
I poured a coke, unlimbered by trusty Macbook Air, and put hands to keyboard. I continued failing to make progress for a while. I stopped and drank a beer. I smoked a cigar. I walked in circles. I lit a fire in the firepit. I decided to work on something different than I had planned and started fooling with an unfinished novella instead. Two thousand words and a hasty sandwich later I gave up and went to sleep. This time I had strange dreams. Jay Lake figured in them, but only as a bit player. (Most notably, a carnival huckster.)
The next morning I started another fire and continued work on the novella until interrupted by my parents again. (Yes, a pattern has emerged.) After some not-writing time we moved the motorhome back to their house. There we had a nice rib cookout with my sister and her husband. Then I closeted myself in the motorhome again and continued working. By the next day I had completed the novella to my satisfaction (~4500 new words) formatted an already completed short-short for submission, edited a different short story down from 6500 to 5800 words and formatted it for submission, made some more notes on various things, and was generally pretty satisfied with my progress, considering.
That was yesterday. Today I have only made notes and done some thinking on the beach. And had lunch (with a couple of beers) at the Rogue brewery. And wrote this. However, I have the place to myself as my parents have left to visit my other sister in Olympia. So I can't use them as an excuse for not writing anymore. And, quite frankly, I can't use you either...
So, back to the grindstone!
Anyway, I left Belleuve WA on Saturday morning for Newport OR, a five hour trip by motorcycle. By the time I arrived and we got my parent's motorhome set up on an isolated camping spot it was near to evening. I made myself dinner and settled down in a camp chair with a notepad, some beer, and a cigar and proceeded to do nothing for several hours.
OK. Not true. I thought. I drank beer. I turned some expensive tobacco into a hard, dense, gray ash. What I didn't do was write in my notepad. The weather was perfect and there were little animals doing little animal things, including a humming bird which exhibited a great deal of curiosity about me. Other than that it was perfect solitude.
As it turns out, that was just what I needed. During that space of time I worked out, in considerable detail the over-arching thematic glue of my sekret projekt. (And I still thought it was good stuff the next day, so there!)
This might not seem like much to you, but it was a great breakthrough to me. So I started writing down some notes to clarify things. That was when I got neighbors: Three carloads of them into the next campsite. Initially I was a bit grumpy about it, but after retrieving my iPod and a bottle of scotch I stopped caring and started writing onto the yellow pad. This continued until dark, at which time I retired out of bugs reach into the motorhome and slept the sleep of the just.
The next morning I made coffee and breakfast and made some more marks on the yellow pad. Unfortunately the creative winds of the previous night seemed to have stopped blowing. Since I needed a few things, I rode my bike into the nearest town (Siletz) and went to the store. That was when my parents showed up, wondering if I wanted to join them for lunch. (They saw my motorcycle in front of the store while on their way to my campsite.)
It wasn't my plan, but they are my parents. So we went to a nearby casino (nearby in local terms equals thirty minute drive) and had a nice smorgasbord lunch and I let my dad talk me into losing twenty bucks in a slot machine. (This is why I don't gamble.) I also caught up with email and downloaded a couple of stories in progress I had forgotten to get earlier via the casino's free WiFi. (Free equals not worth twenty bucks, but there you go. Still, props to google docs for being just an Internet connection away.)
Back in my campsite of solitude I was still spinning the creative wheels, so I went for a walk; pausing to order some wood from the campground host. I explored the campground and found a nice trail across the road which I followed for several miles through thick woods before giving up and turning around. By the time I got back my neighbors had left and I had the place to myself again, except for a pile of wood twice as large as I could possibly need. I was also hungry, thirsty and ready to write some more.
I poured a coke, unlimbered by trusty Macbook Air, and put hands to keyboard. I continued failing to make progress for a while. I stopped and drank a beer. I smoked a cigar. I walked in circles. I lit a fire in the firepit. I decided to work on something different than I had planned and started fooling with an unfinished novella instead. Two thousand words and a hasty sandwich later I gave up and went to sleep. This time I had strange dreams. Jay Lake figured in them, but only as a bit player. (Most notably, a carnival huckster.)
The next morning I started another fire and continued work on the novella until interrupted by my parents again. (Yes, a pattern has emerged.) After some not-writing time we moved the motorhome back to their house. There we had a nice rib cookout with my sister and her husband. Then I closeted myself in the motorhome again and continued working. By the next day I had completed the novella to my satisfaction (~4500 new words) formatted an already completed short-short for submission, edited a different short story down from 6500 to 5800 words and formatted it for submission, made some more notes on various things, and was generally pretty satisfied with my progress, considering.
That was yesterday. Today I have only made notes and done some thinking on the beach. And had lunch (with a couple of beers) at the Rogue brewery. And wrote this. However, I have the place to myself as my parents have left to visit my other sister in Olympia. So I can't use them as an excuse for not writing anymore. And, quite frankly, I can't use you either...
So, back to the grindstone!