The wind is whistling outside, while inside, the howl is from Laura’s humidifier and I’m almost ready for bed.
I’m contemplating a barely-remembered dream, and driving for 7 hours straight home from thanksgiving vacation. For some reason, I drove for 7 hours on sunday without even getting sick of it. I mean, I was sick of it, but I could have driven for hours more if I’d have had to. What does that say about my disposition that day I wonder? It was medative almost. I fantasized almost the entire time, not about sex, more about the house, about writing a novel, about video games, (creating them, not playing them). There are so many things I want to do with my life. This line of thought reminds me that I ran into Neil Stevenson’s homepage today, and how opposed he seems to be to things that will distract him from his writing. I think you have to be that way to really accomplish anything.
I hate to say this, but I will probably never accomplish anything. If I do, it’ll be something I plod away at for years, a novel that takes 5 years to write is still a novel. I should get started on it.
The one memorable part of our seven hour drive home was a quick detour through the windmill fields about two hours south of the cities on 35W. If you’re ever driving that way, it’s well worth it to drive about 3 miles west of the freeway to see them up close. They’re much bigger than they appear from far away. I want to go back and take pictures. I’ll drag laura, and she can take one of me standing next to one for perspective.
hey, i like this post. your writing lately has been very lyrical. it’s lovely.
thanks. I’ve been pretty out of it lately, so that’s nice to hear. I did start some kind of prose thing a couple of nights ago, I liked it quite a bit, but so far there’s no plot or purpose. I’ll let you know how it goes… if it goes.