Fog

"Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."
— E.L. Doctorow

This morning I was writing a little and then went for my morning walk. Having never worked fully on a novel before, it's very interesting. I find myself getting far ahead of myself in terms of where I want it to go, what I want to happen, what should happen...instead of just focusing on the moment and letting it take ME where IT wants to go.

This is going to be a very strange writing year, I can tell already. But I'm hoping the writing really happens and that I'm able to let it guide me instead of the other way around.

Okay, fog. I'm going to walk into you slowly. Don't swallow me whole.

17 Days Later

I've lived in California for 17 days now. I am 17 times different than I was and 17 times the same. My fridge is plugged in now and all seems to be getting into order.

1. I've gone wine tasting three times.
2. I walk up and down a mountain almost every day.
3. I drive everywhere. I have California plates.
4. I wake up when the sun comes giant, glowing my room.
5. I see my family, even a surprise visit from my father.
6. I think about things a lot.
7. I've given 2 readings.
8. I've written 1 poem.
9. I've driven to San Francisco twice.
10. I've eaten grapes off the vine.
11. I've met seven lizards.
12. I've gone swimming twice.
13. I've learned that my love is a good painter, we painted the kitchen and the bedroom.
14. I've learned that I am spatially challenged, I cannot see how things fit together (unless they're words).
15. I helped serve pancakes to 85 people.
16. I'm getting better with the dark, and all the spiders in it.
17. I'm getting better with the light, and all the light in it.