Where I Am

I’m writing this post from atop Straw Hill, in New Hampshire, and this is ‘my’ little office. I have been here for a day short of two weeks—two weeks without blogging. Okay, there was that one afternoon when I commented on Davin Malasarn's post over at the Literary Lab, but it was no small feat! I traveled at great length to the Unity Library (combining the outing with a trip to the dump—sorry, the recycling center), to use the public computer with satellite internet access. Rain fade made it little faster than dial-up, but at least I could acknowledge Davin’s helpful answer to my question on tense—one of my issues in Story for a Shipwright.

While I miss reading my favorite blogs, and I miss commenting, the seclusion here on ‘The Hill’ has also been very refreshing. With few obligations, I’ve had concentrated time for revisions, in a pastoral environment that rivals a private rehab center and spa combined.

Imagine long walks down the stonewall lined road, gold and crimson set ablaze by shafts of early morning sun. Breathe in the crisp aroma of decaying foliage while rustling through fallen leaves.

That was last week; now imagine a constant barrage of siblings and old friends, trying to remember just how long it’s been since I’ve seen any of them. I have been visiting without letup for days. Consequently, I have so little creative juice running at this point that I can barely write this blog. I am, in fact putting forth the effort, because in ten minutes, we’ll be heading off to the Manchester area, to my sister’s, who has—imagine this—high speed internet, where I can upload this post; if only I can sneak away from siblings I haven’t seen in I can’t say how long.