Writing

I am here on the Oregon coast for a writing retreat. This is the first time I've connected to the world in two days. Writing is hard and lonely. I've been eating alot of junk, pacing around the room, drinking coffee, tea, wine, beer. My back hurts. I have a headache that begins in my right temple and ends behind my eye.

Men and Women in Key West isn't finished yet. I should have taken Harley Davidson's question to heart when I first read his comment...because it cuts to the heart of the problem...what is the resolution to the story? Did the narrator break up with Carlos? Did she marry him? What happened? It's a strong piece. My readers here have had intense reactions. But it's not done. Huh. Who knew?

Small House is just the beginning of what will be a much longer piece. I've been working on that most of the time I've been here, and it's hard. It's going into some deep emotional shit. But little bits of beautiful inspiration have come at important moments. I spent Thursday just free writing...blabbing my memories on the page with no shape. I went to sleep and woke up the next morning with the image of the staircase in my head, and then remembered pulling up the carpet when we moved in. I love it when that happens. I'm going home at the end of October to work more on it. I want to be there, to look at the house, walk around the streets where I used to walk. I think there's a whole book there in that little house.

It rained all day yesterday which kept me inside working. It's dry today and the beach is close by. My room overlooks a well-groomed golf course, and men in baseball caps and khaki shorts keep driving by in white-canopied golf carts. It's going to be hard to stay inside with the sun and ocean calling me out, and the stupid little men swinging their clubs around in my line of vision.