Where I Write
It seems to me that when you write most days, that a change in scenery might give colour to the isolation one might experience when writing. Yes, it can be a solitary affair, so intent the focus, so lost in character, in place. Time distorts by virtue of attention. A good place to start when explaining my writing routine. I have spent the summer, when good weather permitted, writing on the shores of the Salish Sea. Grab a cup of coffee to-go, and pull up a log. Simple as that. I sit for a moment, look out to the boats, ships, ferries, that come and go. And then, I like to consider, or wonder, where the log that I am sitting on, was standing, 20 years ago, 50, 100. What was going on in the world? A brief interlude to acknowledge my surroundings, the beauty, the gratitude I feel to be able to do what I love. I open my notebook to where I left off the last time I was there. A fountain pen. Black ink. I am ready to write, cursive, just like we all did at one time. I love to write with...
