Don’t get me wrong, I dearly love my home-state and place, but sometimes, when a certain shift in the wind hits, I experience a powerful, sun-blotting need to get the hell out of it for a while.
What brings it on? I don’t really know. Maybe it’s reading about the West Coast Giant Pumpkin Regatta, or maybe it comes from wanting to rescue a Dodge Power Wagon. Could be reading about dangerous escapes from East Germany, or just from watching The Walking Dead too many times.
Reasons don’t matter though. It does the heart and soul good to sneak clandestinely out of the state with a select beloved and go visit things.
Things? Yes, things, like good people we haven’t seen in forever, and concrete dome houses in the mountains, and Casey who looks like some sort of massive Rottweiler/lab mix but may be a specific breed (I don’t know dogs) and is one of the few dogs I actually like, and secret stashes of Citroens, Porsches, BMW bikes, Buicks and Volvos.
Visiting things leads to discovering things, like Mennonite thrift stores, a truck stop smack dab in the middle of America selling foodstuffs imported from England, a 19×10-foot antique bar with a full-lenght mirror, an antique store full of shooting gallery targets, a spider made from a Volkswagen Beetle, a Wienermobile in the wild, a massive sculpture made of wagon wheels, an awesome creepy statue of Isis that was given to Herbert Hoover by Belgians (word on the street is that he was not particularly happy with it) and the world’s largest truck stop.
Visiting things leads to plunder as well–not only do I have a jar of England’s
favorite favourite strawberry jam, but I also have a cast-iron pan in which I can make muffins shaped like cats.
Visiting things has nothing to do with writing, really, but still leads to a surge in words, hundreds of them, thousands even. Scribbling rose easily to NaNoWriMo levels while I was on the road, and now that I’m home it shows no signs of slackening. And hey, look! It’s NaNoWriMo tomorrow anyway. Perhaps this year I’ll churn, for giggles. Word count on Holly’s book as of 10/31/15 is 106,237, and about 7000 of that was done in the past week. Seems like a starting point to me.
Let the Antisocial Author Month commence!