Sleigh rides are cold adventures

Episode 3 from my Writer’s Studio in the Woods series.

bkfst-1bkfst-2K and I went for a sleigh ride today. Up at 7 for first breakfast — tea and cold cereal. Then we walked a mile to get to the lodge for second breakfast: a plateload of food featuring the chef’s fresh home made bread and his pepper-cured bacon.

It reminded me of Almanzo Wilder’s breakfasts in Farmer Boy, on those winter days in upstate New York that started at 5:00 am and seemed to go on forever.

sleighs

Each sleigh seats 18, not counting babes-in-arms, or the driver.

A group of over 30 people from Seattle, including nearly a dozen toddlers, joined us after breakfast, and we had enough passengers to fill two sleighs. Jack and Tiny were our horses, each weighing a bit over 2000 pounds (that’s a bit over a ton each). The horses do this route a few times every day through the winter, and they seem to know every downhill and climb along the way. We traveled through woods, on trails often shared with snowmobilers. The driver said the loud engines of trucks and snowmobiles don’t bother the horses, but a chipmunk in a tree can spook them. They’re wired to run from predators, who tend to be silent rather than noisy.

jack-and-tiny

Jack’s on the left, Tiny on the right.

K and I were at the front and learned from the driver that his great-great grandfather had settled in this area in the late 1890s, the nearest supply town a day’s ride by horse and wagon. But now the area is busy with tourists — winter and summer. In fact, as we drove by some hay bales stacked in a yard, the driver said those would be used the next day for an outdoor wedding: the guests would sit on them (although whether during the ceremony or during the celebration afterwards wasn’t clear). The ride took us through woods — pines looming on either side, hills deep in snow in the distance. Once we entered the woods, there was not a building in sight.

cauldronturkeysThe temperature was below 20º F (-7º C), so we were all grateful for a hot cider stop near the end of the ride, where we warmed our hands over a flaming cauldron. Nearby, wild turkeys feasted on grains tossed them by the drivers. The whole experience made me feel I was living in Breughel’s Hunters in the Snow.

I’m glad to be back at the Guild now, in front of the fire, about to head to my dorm and a good book before falling asleep.

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Roof avalanches and tree dumps

Episode 2 from my Writer’s Studio in the Woods series.

riverThe past few days, it’s mostly been about the snow. We glimpse the sun during the day, but then the clouds return and, with them, the snow. I’m used to city snow — dirty, slushy, salted and sanded, pushed aside to make way for vehicles and pedestrians. The Guild has a snowplow, but its impact is minimal, leaving wide swathes of snow. Whenever I start to feel sorry for myself, stuck in these snowy woods, I remind myself of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter and O. E. Rølvaag’s Giants in the Earth. I may experience a few moments of discomfort as I walk from my sleeping quarters to the kitchen to make my breakfast, but I’ll never have to risk freezing to death in a haystack as I try to shelter from a blizzard. And they didn’t have snow plows!

labyrinth

Labyrinth, almost invisible under snow. Time to walk it and recreate the path.

The writing progresses, albeit slowly. I’ve been having fun with some chapters about the 1960 presidential debates and election. Those debates took place in September and October, so I love that I can follow them up with some Halloween pranks. But it’s also time to introduce some new characters, and I’m thinking a couple of nutty aunts will be perfect.

It’s time now for second breakfast and then a few hours of steady writing.

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Writer’s studio in the woods, episode 1

snowNearly a week has passed, and I’ve settled into a routine that, sadly, seems set to a clock 3 hours away: awake by 4 am, asleep by 8:30 pm. I sleep in one building, write in another, and eat in a third. There are other buildings here as well — studios for various creative activities — spread over several acres of land studded with pines, deciduous trees, shrubs, and a few low stumps marked with tall posts for the benefit of the snowplows. A road curves past one side of the campus, and early mornings I watch the headlights’ reflected paths cross the ceiling of my dorm room.

This is a quiet time of year for this community, with few visitors — just 7 staff, plus two resident artists (I’m one; the other is a painter). This weekend a large group is coming in, and before they arrive the painter and I will help a staff member flip the mattresses in all the dorms. (If it’s been more than 6 months since you flipped your own mattress, you’re falling behind.) About once a week, we have a communal meal, cooked by our chef/ceramicist; otherwise we’re on our own. Three times a week, dishes get washed — I’m on duty today, so I’ll be busy after lunch working my way through a weekend’s worth of bowls, plates, mugs, and silverware (someone else gets the pots).

labyrinthOutside my studio is a labyrinth. It’s a triple spiral, each feeding into the next, with no set starting or ending point. You just walk until you feel you’re done, moving into and then out of each spiral, completing the sequence of three as often as you like. My predecessor this morning was accompanied by a dog. Its paw prints rarely strayed from the path. If only we could all move so neatly through life.

seed-podsAfter breakfast, I start writing, although I fear this mostly looks like me staring at my notes pinned to the corkboard in front of me. I’m at that stage in this manuscript when I have mostly doubts about it — the characters are insipid, the plot pointless, the writing frustratingly arduous. But I’m familiar with this feeling and know it will pass. It comes most often when I’m facing a major revision of something I thought, several weeks ago, was really clever but now see as moving my characters in the wrong direction. So, it’s time to stop wasting time and get back to work.

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The second part of the journey

blobserverI’d have posted this earlier, but Amtrak’s Empire Builder doesn’t have wifi! That put a real cramp in my style, I can tell you. How did we live pre-wifi?

Obviously, I survived. Much of the trip, including our path through the Rockies, was at night, so it was too dark for me to gawk at the scenery. But what was visible made me want to return during the long days of summer. We crossed the Mississippi River, and later paralleled the Missouri.

A snow storm in North Dakota didn’t slow us down. Drifts of nearly 2 feet were visible at the various station stops. But by the time we reached Montana, the snow was gone. Nothing visible but brown grass and corn stubble on rolling hills.

saunaNow I’m at the Guild, settling in quickly. Two days of stuffing envelopes and then sorting them by zip codes, but also writing, reading, and even a labyrinth walk. My work space is a tiny building — a table, chair, lamp, and heater, with a cork-board on the wall for my writer’s notes. There ought to be snow, but it hasn’t arrived yet. Instead, the sandy ground is covered with pine needles and cones, oak and sycamore leaves. Rain for now, but snow will come eventually.

This morning I resolved a problem with my book’s opening — what a relief to get that taken care of. I hope I’m still happy with it tomorrow. Now I have to retrieve my flashlight before it gets too dark to move around outside without one. Life in the woods!

Posted in Am writing, Travel | 7 Comments

Off on a new adventure

blobserverSome of you may already know that I’m heading north and west (as I write this), on a train across the US, from NYC to a small town in Washington State, just east of the Cascade Mountains. The train trip will take about 3 days, and then I have 31 days to revise this year’s NaNo project.

I ended NaNo with a pretty good first draft, which looks something like 170 pages of rambling narrative and dialog, made colorful with Notes-for-revision in red. This particular draft is about 40% notes, 20% dialog, and the rest some narrative that needs culling. BUT. I’ve figured out how my novel will end, which I didn’t know in October, and I’ve discovered some new characters who’ll help (or hinder) my protagonist. Hindrances are important yet my biggest challenge, because I hate for things to go wrong for anyone. More on this in future posts, as I wrestle my plot into a workable form.

For now, as we roll past the Hudson River, I’m going to read (a history of London’s Great Fire) and watch the sunset.

PS: Thank you, Amtrak, for leaving on time!

Posted in Am writing, NaNoWriMo | 2 Comments

NaNo — AGAIN!

virginia-creeperI don’t know why I’m surprised every year about how quickly November arrives. It’s a truism that time accelerates as one ages, but it’s still stunning to see it in action. I have 10 months of my sabbatical left, but that means that 5 months have passed already! Meanwhile, my to-do list gets longer rather than shorter.

Activities fall into three categories: 1) writing and writing-related (which includes querying), 2) reading and reading related (which includes blogging), and 3) everything else:

1. WRITING: Sporadic querying in process, while trying not to be distressed by each rejection. Organizing latest WIP for NaNo, which means a bit of writing and a lot of creating folders, jotting notes on random pieces of paper, and long-range planning (i.e., staring out the window).

200px-dictionary_of_the_khazars2) READING: As books make for a great escape from reality, these times have encouraged a lot of reading. I can recommend Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s The Conch Bearer, OUP’s Victorian Fairy Tales (ed. Michael Newton), Paul Theroux’s The Happy Isles of Oceania, Milorad Pavić’s Dictionary of the Khazars, Henry Adams’ The Education of Henry Adams, and Laurie Halse Anderson’s Ashes (vol 3 of her Seeds of America trilogy). Maybe I’ll post something about these someday; for now just know that they’re each well worth locating and reading. Proust will be my December reading, along with a French version of Harry Potter.

3) EVERYTHING ELSE: Nothing to see here.

This blog’ll be fairly quiet (as if that were something new) for the next couple of months. I may check in to report on NaNo progress in November; I may check in to report on Artist Residency progress in December. Or I may just continue lurking. Whatever the case, happy Yuletide to all!

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Bookshop for sale

22749893The Bookshop (1978), Penelope Fitzgerald (156 pp.)

Occasionally an ad appears in one of the papers I read about a bookstore for sale. The latest one is in the Scottish borders, and so enticing! The idea of living one’s life among books — making recommendations, supporting authors, organizing bookshelves!!!

The best cure for this craving is to read novels set in bookshops. (The less exciting cure, of course, is to remind myself of the challenge and expense of moving abroad, but I’ll ignore those for now.) Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Bookshop fits the bill perfectly.

In it, middle-aged Florence Green acquires an abandoned building and opens the first bookshop in a village in Suffolk. I would have thought the villagers would be grateful for this, but that’s where this bibliophile goes wrong. It’s always a mistake to hope that others think the way I do (recent political developments being the sad proof of that). Florence’s plans block the local doyenne’s hopes for an arts center, and the woman slowly, subtly puts her counterattack into motion.

Fitzgerald’s writing is beautiful, showing this village and its inhabitants with particular details that reveal an insular and self-sufficient community. Here’s our first glimpse of Hardborough (a perfect name for a town tough to crack open):

The town itself was an island between sea and river, muttering and drawing into itself as soon as it felt the cold. Every fifty years or so it had lost, as though careless or indifferent to such things, another means of communication. By 1850 the Laze had ceased to be navigable and the wharfs and ferries rotted away. In 1910 the swing bridge fell in, and since then all traffic had to go ten miles round by Saxford in order to cross the river. In 1920 the old railway was closed. The children of Hardborough, waders and divers all, had most of them never been in a train. They looked at the deserted LNER station with superstitious reverence. Rusty tin strips, advertising Fry’s Cocoa and Iron Jelloids, hung there in the wind.

Even this early in Fitzgerald’s brief novel we get a clue to Florence’s fate. A place resigned to cutting itself off from the rest of the world is probably happy to be bookstore-free.

I shuddered as I wrote that last sentence. To quote Spongebob Squarepants: “Those words! Is it possible to use them together in a sentence like that?”

After reading The Bookshop I can safely resist any offer to buy a bookstore, at least until the November election results come in.

Posted in Bibliiomania, Fiction, Humorous, Support bookstores | Tagged | 2 Comments