I think everything happens for a reason. Right now, I'm perched high above Homer, Alaska, at a friend's house, waiting. But I'm glad to be waiting.
Since Friday afternoon my focus has been on Homer, Alaska, and writing. Setting up camp at my favorite bakery/B&B, I've been all about words, words, and more words. I'm writing a book, see. But the weekend has been more than that.
Yukon is a smart husband, and he knows when his wife needs to fly away for a little while. More important, he knows that to me, writing is akin to breathing; vital, deep, and refreshing if I pay attention to it.
So I've been writing; molding words at my fingertips, fact-checking, proof-reading. I set up my "desk," a little table in my room upon which I set my laptop, reference books, pen, water bottle, and a few apples (writing makes me hungry). I had to move the coffee maker across the room in front of the television, because, of course, I wouldn't be watching any TV this weekend.
The weather was wild, with driving rain, wind, and melting snow; perfect writing weather
. I'd sit in front of the modest glow of my Mac for a while, until the word count reached another thousand words, then I'd pull on my Xtra Tuff boots and rain jacket and go outside for a break.
I'd planned on returning home late this morning, but Mother Nature had other plans. 100-mph plans. Anchorage was slammed with a Chinook that brought heavy rain, wind, and ice on every surface. As brave as I had been feeling about flying on small planes this summer, I was not ready to fly on one, today.
So here I am, watching the clouds toss each other an occasional sunbeam. Perfectly relaxed, utterly spent, and waiting.