J. and I have been journeying. Right now we are crossing the top (actually more like the middle) of Ontario.
Yesterday after some messy snow along the route into the north we
turned west at Cochrane and drove from town to town, Kapuskasing to Hearst to Longlac.
This morning, we’ve traveled through Thunder Bay and onward, heading west, for home, listening as we go to the novel Shipbreaker by Paulo Bacigalupi while enjoying the bright, sunny day.
We went home for Christmas to mainly help our moms. Mine, post stroke, and J’s, who just moved into a new house. Since we decided to go at the last minute, it was cheaper to load the dog into the car and drive. But it’s a long drive. Nearly 2,000 kilometres. Two full days.
Along the way I’ve been thinking about story, about the draft of the novel that I’ll be returning to next week, while I work with the ten writers who are taking my online course on finishing.
It is a pleasure to let my mind drift, soar like a bird over the landscape of my novel, looking down, contemplating plot points, changes that need to be made, the deeper meaning of the story.
Occasionally the characters have said things to me, usually a sign that I’m on the right track.
This type of daydreaming is necessary, of course, and something I don’t do enough of. But this year, 2018, I’m going to keep trying, to continue the work I’ve been doing to mitigate and limit the Internet’s influence on my life.
I’m going to buy a journal and get back to daily private writing. I’m going to return to one day a week without Internet (well, I’ll try…) in order to slow down and allow my mind to more easily drift (and maybe get some household chores done in that expanse of time that comes with hours spent offline).
Drift like it’s drifting now, passing the kilometres with the narration of a novel unraveling through our speakers, leading us along…