I bask in equatorial haze...
I made it down to Grand Isle, an island at the far southeastern tip of Louisiana, where I am typing and looking out over the ocean. I had planned to stay another night, but beyond fishing, drinking, and eating fish there isn't anything to do here, and my hotel afforded no view and was a poorish value at almost 7o dollars a night. So I shall head north, listening to the new Beck album (which is so good, I played it straight through almost three times last night; when I am feeling a bit more literal, I will try to describe the feeling I got when I first put it on, looking at distant, evocative clouds hanging over the Louisiana forests, rolling through the bayou towns on backroads at sunset - it was deeply profound.)
I think I'll do some camping tonight, though the Weather Channel has called for a chance of severe weather.
My story is up to almost 21,000 words and shows no sign of stopping (my next longest, "Watersmeet" clocks in at a mere 14,000 or so). I love it. I wrote another 2,000 words last night and this morning in my dinghy, seaside room. I hope to finish it in time for the writing group meeting next Saturday, but I can promise nothing. (I miss you too, Heather.) :)
I'm feeling a little out of my element, I guess. I've eaten twice in restaurants down here and there has been nothing at all for vegans (I ate a salad, onion rings and French bread for breakfast this morning). I also felt a little alone. This ties in to what Harlem Rose said and something that I've voiced before: I felt less alone lying by a fire in the backcountry than I did last night, lying in bed after my writing was done for the evening, watching TV. I want to get back to the country. Today I'll be traversing the causeway over Lake Ponchitrain (sp) by New Orleans, on my way to Fountainbleau State Park, so I'll say hello to the trees again.
It was nice looking out on the murky ocean last night - She who has no memory. Thus is the spirit of this trip: not to deny the past but rather to focus my attention elsewhere. I've been largely successful.
And for a few hours yesterday, I looked cool with my filthy hair. I felt very organic.
I made it down to Grand Isle, an island at the far southeastern tip of Louisiana, where I am typing and looking out over the ocean. I had planned to stay another night, but beyond fishing, drinking, and eating fish there isn't anything to do here, and my hotel afforded no view and was a poorish value at almost 7o dollars a night. So I shall head north, listening to the new Beck album (which is so good, I played it straight through almost three times last night; when I am feeling a bit more literal, I will try to describe the feeling I got when I first put it on, looking at distant, evocative clouds hanging over the Louisiana forests, rolling through the bayou towns on backroads at sunset - it was deeply profound.)
I think I'll do some camping tonight, though the Weather Channel has called for a chance of severe weather.
My story is up to almost 21,000 words and shows no sign of stopping (my next longest, "Watersmeet" clocks in at a mere 14,000 or so). I love it. I wrote another 2,000 words last night and this morning in my dinghy, seaside room. I hope to finish it in time for the writing group meeting next Saturday, but I can promise nothing. (I miss you too, Heather.) :)
I'm feeling a little out of my element, I guess. I've eaten twice in restaurants down here and there has been nothing at all for vegans (I ate a salad, onion rings and French bread for breakfast this morning). I also felt a little alone. This ties in to what Harlem Rose said and something that I've voiced before: I felt less alone lying by a fire in the backcountry than I did last night, lying in bed after my writing was done for the evening, watching TV. I want to get back to the country. Today I'll be traversing the causeway over Lake Ponchitrain (sp) by New Orleans, on my way to Fountainbleau State Park, so I'll say hello to the trees again.
It was nice looking out on the murky ocean last night - She who has no memory. Thus is the spirit of this trip: not to deny the past but rather to focus my attention elsewhere. I've been largely successful.
And for a few hours yesterday, I looked cool with my filthy hair. I felt very organic.
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