Early goodbyes. The road trip from Salt Lake to Jackson sounded like big fun. Haven't been to Jackson in almost fifty years, and still have the scars to prove it. Lovely place, beautiful mountains.
The muse returned this morning. Much luck with the revisions on "Man of Letters." So much so, it makes me wonder why I've been plodding through the other stories. Should just shut up and knock wood, I guess. Take gifts when they're given and say thank you. Oh, and, while I'm at it, try not to think so hard.
Got the urge for something Larry McMurtry. Gonna run with it. Embrace it. Throw my arms around it. That short trip up the mountain reminded me the west is in my blood, and always has been. I need to read about it more, write about it more. Own it in the most intimate ways possible. From the stones under my feet to the sky over my head.
Back here on earth, found five new stories from N in my box. Guess I've got my work cut out for me. But exciting work. Looking forward to reading them.
Mother called tonight. Coming in next week for a visit of undetermined length. Looking forward to seeing her. Best understanding of the matter is, she'll be hanging here for week...or longer...then ferried away to Wyoming, her childhood home. First time she'll visit here without my dad.