Sunday, 7:22 pm...

Woke up with teeth on edge, feeling like somebody’d busted me in the mouth. Wrote a while, then gassed up the pickup and headed into the mountains for a day of fishing. Beautiful, driving up the pass. Sunny and cool. Reached Woodland Park and the rain began, worsening by the time I found myself in Florissant.

Turned back eventually. Knew there wasn’t any point. But the ride up was nice just the same. Everything was still green. Dark clouds and a bit of lightning, but nothing serious. The fires of the past few years seem a long way away now, unless of course you find yourself in a burn area.

Drove through Manitou on the way into town. Streets overrun with happy-looking people. Stopped at King Soopers to pick up a few things for dinner then came home, took a walk, and mowed the lawn. Got a busy week coming up. Need to ramp into high gear. Close on so many projects.

Brewing...

Nice time at coffee this morning. What’s better, as a writer, than to spend a couple of hours with another writer whose work you admire? Came away jazzed. Itching to put in a long day at the keyboard soon. Meantime, content to steal all the loose moments that fall my way.

Beautiful weather today. Just gorgeous. A few light clouds, blue sky stretched out behind them, and a perfect breeze to stir the leaves. Going to pull the burlap off the lawn this evening and see if the grass looks as good as its three-week teaser campaign.

Read a new Tom McGuane short story in this week’s New Yorker, while lollygagging on the porch swing. Funny stuff, but with a dark, twisted ending. My kind of piece.

 

This, and more...

Midweek and sliding quickly toward the weekend. Sunshine at our backs, sunshine ahead.

Inspector showed up this morning to pass blessing on the renovation. All went well. He not only gave us the nod, he complimented the work that had been done. Appliance maintenance man came later in the morning and repaired the water couple on the fridge. Ice, at last!

Up early tomorrow to have coffee with an old writer buddy. Looking forward to catching up and hearing about the new treatment he’s working on. Nice to see a talented, hardworking, dedicated friend get a break. Really nice.

Apres Labor Day...

Restless sleep last night. Woke early, did a bit of the writing in the head, then repaired to the keyboard for the real thing. Worked on the hunters story, and found its ending. Now to smooth out the voice, clean up the details, and get it in the mail.

Beautiful day, if a bit muggy. Cool, but pleasant. Things are supposed to warm up as the week goes on, temps hitting near ninety by Thursday. Even so, it’ll be okay. The threat of hot weather this time of year never holds much fear. It goes as quickly as it arrives.

Fall is a fine time for reflection. Also, fishing. It’s especially nice when you can find a tidy way to combine the two—an ambition I hope to realize (soon and often) now that the construction work is finished and the lawn is back to being lawn again. Final inspection of kitchen tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

Hello September...

Quiet day, quiet evening. Did a little grilling tonight. (Bratwurst.) First time cooking outside in many months. A nice diversion. Picked up the 2013 edition of Best American Short Stories this afternoon. Another nice diversion. Looking forward to cracking it.

Last day of August...

My short short, “Gifted” went live today on the Homestead Review web page. That makes five excerpts now from my novel, Riverbound, that have seen publication. Or will see it, soon. Other pubs who’ve picked up pieces were the Bryant Literary Review, Falling Star Magazine, Crossborders Journal, and Chicago Literati. Maybe I need to dust the manuscript off and start sending it out again? Hard to know.

Hello Grass, Goodbye Balloon Classic

Quiet Saturday. A little work, a little play. The grass is coming on now, and looks like it might be able to shed its burlap overcoat by the end of next week. Sooner, even. After a summer of mud and dirt, it’s going to be nice to crack a beer on a hot afternoon and stare out at a lawn again.

Balloon Classic is moving to Pueblo, owing to local politics and hard feelings. Tomorrow’s our last chance to see it. Guess we’ll have to roll out of bed at some obscene hour and bid it a fond farewell. It was one of the first events I attended when I moved here thirty years ago, and I’ll be sorry to see it go.

 

Fragments...

Friday night. Well, maybe not quiet night yet, but getting close. Full day at the office writing articles with only a brief bit of early morning work on some stories.

Have three pieces close to being finished, but haven’t found those last few words to make them respectable enough to put in the mail. No worries. Have a feeling that when they start falling into place, it’ll all happen at once.

Weather was cooler this morning, and the sun—when there is sun—seems to be sitting a little lower in the sky. Another bank of long gray clouds on the Peak this evening. Feels like fall.

Like to go fishing tomorrow, but learned long ago to avoid the mountains on the Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends. Traffic backed up all the way from Florissant to Woodland Park. 

Almost home...

Wild day at the keyboard. Much accomplished! Close to having the finishing touches on a new/old story. Despaired of this piece for many months, but a parent’s refusal to turn his back on an ugly child may have salvaged it from the fireplace.

Heading home soon. Big day tomorrow with a new commercial gig. Looking forward to a productive morning, and maybe some afternoon sunshine as we find ourselves moseying into the Labor Day weekend.

 

Sweet surrender...

Long day. No sleep last night. Late afternoon shower to bring along the new lawn. Dinner at the Dale Street as we try to avoid the fumes from the floor sealer. That's it for this evening. Calling it quits and looking ahead to tomorrow.

A Number of Small Surprises...

Many comings and goings today. One step closer to having the kitchen project buttoned up. Last repairs to the basement. Door hardware installed. Wires located and ready for the electricians. Tomorrow will see the last coat of sealer applied to the hardwood.

On a different front, found the ending I’d been searching for, and completed a good draft of a new story. Still some cleanup work to do, but expect the navigation to be easier now that I know the narrative’s destination. Might give it a rest tomorrow and move on to the next piece.

Funny. A good friend posted a number of Facebook entries praising the short story, and what came back in return were comments from folks who, by their own admission, loved short fiction but hadn’t read any in years. Strange, given we live in a day and age in which everything seems to be drifting toward the nano.

 So much good writing out there. So many new voices to discover. 

Note to self...

Lovely morning. Blue skies, a scattering of high white clouds, and fresh coffee on the porch swing. Wrote till noon. Discovered reason for hope in an old draft.

Strange what time off will do to one’s perception of a piece. Opened four different unfinished stories with the intent of making a few quick edits on each, but found enough promise in the first that I decided to ride it the entire morning.

Never stop trying. That’s the biggest, most important point. Never stop trying to improve your craft. Read more. Reach further. Write decisively, and trust in the skills you already possess. The only things a writer can’t afford to waste are words and time.

 

Heavy lifting...

Slept well, rose early and went to work with a rested head. Got some good edits in on a piece I started some time back, nearly finished it, then went off in search of brick.

Spent the afternoon outside, sprucing up the yard. The place is nearly looking like a house again! Still a few days (fingers crossed) from being finished, but the end (of something) is in sight.

Heading for the showers. Dead dog tired. Reduced to half from hefting an axe, lifting bricks, and pushing around a wheelbarrow all day.

Classical Grass...

Lawn is seeded! Burlap laid! All in time for the 10:00 a.m. rainstorm the weatherman promised but never arrived. No matter. The skies are a steel grey and still threatening.

In other exciting news, the missing flatware has been found! The plastic forks and knives can, at last, be bid farewell!

Shakespeare in the Park last night. As You Like It, performed in a tent at Rock Ledge Ranch. Much fun all around. A wonderful way to glide into the weekend.

To sleep, perchance to dream....

Sleepless night, sluggish morning. Even so, progress on two stories. Left for office early, then came home early to work on lawn. Spread a yard of new topsoil and prepped it for seed. Will pick up a roller from Bill’s Tool Rental in the next day or so and go to town. Roll, sew, cover and water. Woo-hoo! New grass! Can’t wait to see those little green spears poking through the burlap!

More than looking forward to a little shut-eye tonight. Not sure how long the evening will last, between the short night last night and all of the yard work this afternoon. But good to be moving forward. Does sleep come anymore honestly than from a long afternoon working outdoors?

Bike races tomorrow! All across town. Should make for an interesting afternoon—logistically speaking—as the city will be closing a number of roads to accommodate the racers. Full report to come!

Odds 'n ends...

Abbreviated turn at the keyboard this morning. But a productive one. Inching closer and closer to the end of another story. Turned off the juice around 9:30 and cleaned the yard of the renovation vestiges—old doors, wood scraps, drop cloths and the like. Felt great to see the property shaping up.

Drove out to the dump later. Stupid, maybe, but I love the dump. I think something happened to me after reading Don DeLillo’s Underworld. But then, how could it not have? Something’s happened to me after reading every Don DeLillo novel.

Hope to pick up black dirt and re-seed the yard before the weekend. Buy a bolt of burlap, button everything down with wooden stakes, and wait for the new shoots to appear. 

Turn, turn, turn...

Fallen behind here. Yipes! Two days without an entry, but not without an explanation. Was taking care of more important things.

Warm day today. Took advantage by pruning trees, cutting lawns, picking weeds, and re-arranging dirt. Most satisfying!

Also got a new story “Shark Week” out the door. Big hopes it will find a nice home…soon. Didn’t do much else in the way of writing/revising the past few days, but as we know from Ecclesiastes, there’s a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.

Bon voyage to K, if reading this. Always a pleasure.

A Brief accounting of myself...

Back in town.

Lights are on.

Came home to good things, not the least of which was a finished (close enough, anyway) kitchen, and another acceptance slip. “Gifted,” a short-short, was picked up by the Homestead Review, a pub out of Hartnell College in Salinas, California.

Expecting company later this afternoon. A long-overdue, much beloved visitor.

Should be a good weekend.

WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION...

August 12, 2014

Woke early. 3:45 maybe, in a hotel on Hat Six Road. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Wrote a bit in the morning, then packed up. Went to the Safeway, stocked up on water, and supplies. Left Casper around noon.

Road construction on the west end of town, over highway 20. Flag men, etc. Drove into Arminto around 1:30, where I lost all telephone reception. BNSF railcars dead on tracks. New gas and oil rigs have sprung up. The old wool warehouse is losing ground to new mechanical doings. Some year it’ll disappear the way the alkali terminal did.

Road up the mountain was touchy in places, but better over some stretches than its been in many a year. Not sure what to think about that. Progress? Reached the cabin just before 4:00 and got things tidied up, ready for dinner.

Quiet tonight. No one for miles around. Just crickets, birds, and the occasional squirrel. The evening sky was blue. Different shades, from power to a deep gray blue. No orange or red at all. Writing by the light of two kerosene lamps.

August 13, 2014

Hash for breakfast, and a can of peaches. Enjoying a cup of instant, doctored with evaporated milk. It’s good to have things that remind you of home, but that aren’t home itself. Instant coffee. Kerosene lamps. A small bed with blankets you hardly remember, except that you slept under them one week every summer for twenty years.

First full day on the mountain. Quiet, but even so the residue of city sounds—car engines, overheard conversations, strange little ticks and ringings—keep rattling around in the head. Takes a while for the mind to shut down. Longer than it used to.

Saw a dead steer up at the gate near the Rochelle place on the way in yesterday. Just a black husk now streaked with bird shit, innards scavenged over the winter. A crow was sitting on its back when I drove up. Spooked when I got out to take a photo.

Saw the hide and backbone of another steer down in the Red Valley. Some enterprising soul had hung it on a fence. I remember the summer the steer first appeared. It was ten years ago. A red and white Hereford. Every summer since it’s lost a bit of itself to coyotes and turkey buzzards, and now it’s been reduced down to a macabre sort of ornament.

Forgot to retrieve my stories from Dropbox before coming up the mountain, so have nothing to revise for two days. The words are all locked up, somewhere in space. Couldn’t get at them if I wanted. Guess I’ll have to start in on the new one I’ve been thinking about. See if I can make some headway in that direction.

(Later…)

Wrote the draft of a new story, then hiked down to the old Thompson cabin, fishing the narrow little creek that trickles through the hills. Caught and released four brook and two cutt. Not bad for a lazy day’s work. Waiting to hit the Middle Fork of the Powder tomorrow before taking any for dinner.

Saw a doe and fawn browsing in the rocks up near Dylan’s Mountain. Other than that, a sleepy late afternoon. Read Peter Rock’s “Go-Between” and Robert Hellenga’s “A Christmas Letter” in Ploughshares when I got back to the cabin. Not to take anything away from Rock, but the Hellenga story really got to me.

(Later still…)

Half an hour from sunset. Crickets have started sawing. Hoping for a clear night so I can stay up and stargaze awhile.

Missing old friends who used to come up here with me. Place is full of ghosts.

August 14, 2014

Stayed up late last night, but no break in the overcast skies. Clouds boiled up black and blue, filling the entire bowl of the heavens. Even the moon went truant. Got up and went outside around three. It was snowing. Nothing big, just flurries.

Spitting rain, now, and looking gloomy. Waiting to see how bad it gets before heading out to the middle fork. Don’t want to get mired along the way. It’s a bad road with some nasty switchbacks.

Guess I’ll boil another cup and settle into writing for a while.

(After waiting awhile…)

Rain’s coming down good and hard now, and the sky’s disappeared into the mist. No middle fork today. We’re heading for a great big toad-strangler.