Yesterday I left the boys at home and went exploring on my own. It was a cautious, mapless sort of adventure, in which I simply followed the thread of our main road all the way out of town, past the farms where the day before we’d scored a flat of berries and a jar of black cap jam, past the stables and the cat motel, through the roundabout and up a mountain, the name of which I have not yet learned. Up up up, through a tunnel of pines and out the other side, where a fog-draped view of the farmland opened at my feet.
I stopped the car for a bit and sat on the hood in the rain, taking it in. All those houses below, and I know no one. In this town, and the one tucked into the leafy hillside beyond, I am a stranger. I can go anywhere I like in whatever state of disarray and rest assured that no one gives a shit, least of all me. I can’t remember ever feeling so deliriously invisible.
When my hair and shoulders were too soaked for any more navel-gazing, I retraced my path through town, made one safe turn onto a tentatively familiar road, and found the library. Holy moly, I think I’m in love. If ever I get tired of my little writing nook or the cafe down the road, I’m all set. And there’s a creekside walking path right next to it, for those moments in which the story becomes elusive. Hell, isn’t it always?
Which leads me back to writing. I’m more than ready to dive into the next book, but have stalled out at the moment as I wait for . . . well, let’s say I’m waiting for editorial direction. In the meantime, I’m dabbling. Short story here, prose poem there, obnoxious blog rants and obscure text messages to my family. I badly want to start drafting something substantial. I want a plate-sized porterhouse steak of a story, not this anemic, protein-poor directionless blather I’m producing. My last story was entirely plotless, comprised of two panting individuals attacking each other under a waterfall. I finished it before I realized I’d given neither character a name.
Classy work, Averil.
What do you write while you’re waiting?
Sounds like a wonderful day, Averil. Have to say I’m liking the anonymity of this time before the husband starts another position, and I have to watch my mouth. In fact, I don’t have to talk to anyone I don’t want to. Heaven! I’m still writing the same project. Received some great feedback and acting on it.
You’re just like me: as soon as you think the project is finished, you find ten more things you want to change. I’d keep going and going if left to my own devices.
Enjoy your anony-time, Deb. We promise not to blow your cover.
I write my blog, of course. And comments on other’s blogs. And even those are becoming less inspired. (Your description of invisibility is delicious. I wish I had a big plate of that.)
I’ll admit that as soon as I get this hair under control (appointment pending), I’ll feel a bit more inclined to be social. At the moment it closely resembles a shrub that needs pruning.
“deliriously invisible” I love that description. I attended high school in a town of 800 people. Almost all of the people who I graduated with attended kindergarten (and every grad in between) with me. It was like having a classroom of 30 siblings and living in a glass fish bowl. After graduation, I attended a large public university. My first class as a freshman was in the largest lecture hall. There were maybe 600 people in the class. I can remember being in awe of how free I was in that moment. The possibilities seemed endless and nobody gave a damn what I did. Its a beautiful feeling.
Wow, that’s a little bitty town. A small community always seems so romantic (to me, because I grew up in Vegas), but you sure as hell would be living in a fishbowl. Did you color your hair pink or cover yourself in tattoos once you’d broken free of the tribe?
No. I drank a lot and generally did all the things that the “good girl” I was known as back home wouldn’t do. I tried drugs and became a slacker. I made out with girls at bars and had one night stands with boys. I made friends with people vastly different than me. People who thought growing up on a farm was cool and who I thought were cool because they grew up in the city. I realized how tiny I was and how big the world is. I was humbled. I all around grew up. No tattoos yet, but I’m working on it.
I always have a half dozen projects in some state of “becoming.” I can usually turn to these when I need to. But right now, I’m trying to keep up with my Fathers and Sons stories, that keep pouring themselves on me.
Be sure to treat yourself to a trip up the Columbia Gorge. There are some overlooks there that are breathtaking, and Multnomah Falls alone is worth moving to Portland for.
Your focus on the Fathers and Sons project is inspiring, Paul. Are you still planning to group them into a story collection, or will they be a novel? (I’m on my way to your blog, in case you’ve already answered that one.)
We’ve been down the gorge a couple of times, and you’re right, it’s amazing. The waterfalls, the view of the river, the drive itself . . . though in all honesty, I’ve yet to take an ugly drive in Oregon.
Blog posts, round robins, and pigeons are my life. . . (and a bit of secret Sherlock fangeekery on the side)
Pigeons! Goooo pigeons! (I always want to put a ‘d’ in that word: Pidgeons. WTH?)
I’m counting down to the next episode of The Newsroom. I promised myself not to fall in love with another TV show now that Game of Thrones is off-season, but goddamn that HBO, they reel me in every time.
I don’t write while I’m waiting. I write while I’m writing.While I’m waiting I’m like as not to be reading.
But this is not the waiting you mean. I know the waiting you mean. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t have forever.
Neither do you. What are you waiting for?
I’m waiting for my ducks to align.
Ah, so glad you discovered the haven of Tigard. I love that library and the park across the street which leads to a whole bunch of other parks. Almost makes me homesick!
Enjoy your delirious invisibility–it’s such a fun place to be.
You should be homesick. I may never leave town, I love it so.
Nothing better than delicious invisibility. I’ve been blessed with this so many times.
And I’ve come to wonder, as I work on this damned Me-Moir what different people my brothers might have become if they’d believed they could be invisible and reinvent themselves somewhere else. If they’d only believed they could leave. Leave the family. Leave the town. Leave every single thing and start all over.
I’ve often wondered the same thing about people who seem stuck. Do they not believe they can change? Are they comfortable, and do they equate comfort with happiness or content? It seems to me that a desire for reinvention is more a personality trait than a reaction to circumstance.
I’m in the same boat you’re in: chomping at the bit to start my next story. I’m not planning on a novel though, probably something in the 20k-40k range–you know, manageable, a filling snack but not something that will take over my life for months. I’m very much looking forward to getting into the place where that other world, the one I’ve created, is as real to me as my own and I can slip into whenever I want. Escaping myself is always such a relief.
As for your question: what do I write while I’m waiting? I don’t really write anything. (Blog posts don’t count to me.)
A novella is the perfect length for me, as personal satisfaction goes. I like that in-between size, in which you can wrangle a decent chunk of story without letting it wander off-point.
Your new surroundings sound wonderful.
Lately, there’s nothing to wait for, but when I write, it’s mostly on my blog.
I think of you more and more as an essayist, Lisa. And I mean that in the most complimentary terms.
There’s no question that you could string all of your blog posts together and publish them as a collection. No matter what you tap into, it’s magic.
And you don’t even EAT steak!!! That’s how hungry you are for this next one.
I hear you. Sometimes when the right story doesn’t come I start something cringeworthy. Then I usually turn away and forget writing until some idea hits me like a truck. These days I’m prepared to wait some.