Writing on the Road: Detriments to Working
So, I think I’m going to escape the world and work on this book! Ha! Between driving, being chased by scary jaws-looking trucks (check out my side mirror–this guy drove beside me for 100 miles!), finding a campsite and surviving frightening nights alone in the dark, who has freaking time to write? I’m better off with a studio and two rugrats! I swear EVERYONE wants to talk to me. Do I look that friendly? Can I pass myself off as stuck up for a while?
I spent about four hours copying every plot point onto notecards last night and this morning. I can’t quite get a handle on what to do. I just keep working, letting the small problems occur to me–dropped characters, missing exposition, too-brief dialogue–and hope the big picture comes through eventually.
Yesterday I made friends with a squirrel (although if he ever confesses to being the scary little rodent who hurled himself between my rainfly and my inner tent wall last night, our affair is OVER) and this morning he hung out as I scribbled cards, often shaking his tail at me if I was not paying attention, as if to say, “Throw me a bone here, woman, I’m cute!” I took a hike along a trail that bordered the shore of the lake where I camped, and when I returned, there he was again. He seemed a bit sad when I packed up my tent, but alas, I had to get to the library, where I could have wireless and more distractions (like blogging) to keep me from figuring out what is wrong with my book.
Maybe I’ll just declare it healthy and go sightseeing.
Hope everyone back home is doing well. I’m in state #4, although #3 was visited solely due to navigational error. Big navigational error. Blame the scary truck. Oh, and Stephen Hawkings. I do not appear to have the brain power to listen to lectures on quantum mechanics and drive simultaneously (especially since I am texting Kurt every five minutes too.) And negotiating turns in the … mountains …
Hey. I know what’s missing. Red wine and coke. Surely that’s to be had somewhere around here.