While I waited for everyone else to wake up this morning, I checked my email, looked at Twitter and read Facebook, not an atypical thing for me to do while savoring my first cup of coffee.
On Twitter, this quote: "I wish I could tell them it's harder to dream than they think it is." Which is how I feel about my writing. Sometimes it is so easy, and sometimes I cannot conjure what I know I want my characters to experience. Or I simply don't have any dreams for them at that particular moment.
This weekend we've been in Crested Butte, where the book I just finished and the one I'm working on now is set. While I know many of the places I used in the book like the back of my hand, being in them again, that feeling of home and knowing them so intimately, has been surreal, like I'm living in an alternate universe.
Yesterday, driving around "the ranch," which plays such a huge role in both books moved me in a way I can't put words to. Which came first? I haven't seen this place before. But it's what I wrote.
After several days of breathtakingly beautiful weather, it is raining this morning. When I was a little girl and my grandparents and I traveled somewhere, I remember my grandmother would tell me that it rained the day we left wherever it was, because the place was sad that we were leaving.
As is so typical of Doug, there are things I don't have to explain to him, he just knows. Standing at the window, I felt a couple of tears run down my cheek, I'm not even sure why. He came up behind me, rested his chin on my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, we'll be back here before you know it."
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