This weekend, on Sunday, I finally realized my dream of writing a novel on the deck of my cabin. (As a bonus, I was writing it on my new MacBook.) Our cabin is in the middle of nowhere, northern California, four hours and some minutes from the Bay Area. Every time we go, it’s torture to leave. On the front deck, at dusk, we sit in our chairs and look over the pond across the street, hearing geese making goose noises as they fly above us and sometimes as they skim noisily across the water, and I always feel inspired – nameless, directionless, generic inspiration that I wish I could pour into some practical demonstration.
Today, my husband, the one who bought me the MacBook to help spur me toward success in NaNoWriMo, took the kids off to play hide-and-seek in the meadow, suggesting I use the uninterrupted time to work on my novel. At first, I resisted. The time would be better spent vacuuming, sorting laundry, preparing to leave the cabin and return home. I said I couldn’t just sit around for an hour and would instead work on getting the place ready to go.
However, they left and I couldn’t resist the silence. I made a double cup of tea and took my laptop outside to the deck. I wrote a freaky number of words. I wanted to keep writing, but my hour was almost up. I submitted my word count and went inside to wash dishes. But the story wasn’t done with me. I found myself scribbling almost illegibly in my notebook with a brown magic marker, trying to get the next scene down before I lost it. Then I was sitting at the picnic table outside, while my husband shut down the water and finished packing the car, writing so fast (with a pen this time), that my hand cramped. I had the next three scenes down and I could barely stand the four-hour drive home until I could get to my laptop and continue the story.
I’m tired now, and ready for bed. I’m looking forward to tomorrow and what more my characters have in store for me.