The Difference of a Few Thousand Miles

I was a long way from home last week. Out in Monterey Bay, California for a writers’ retreat. There the ocean trumps it all as the waves come in and the sea animals play out in the water. We left the doors open out to the balcony to hear the waves crashing and the seals barking through the night. During the day, we peered out toward the kelp where the sea otters floated along, some with their babies on their bellies. Pelicans lined up in the sky and flew past our hotel. Gulls flashed their wings at us and landed on the hotel deck railings to see what we were having for dinner. Out in the bay, dolphins leaped from the water, splashing their friends. People in bright yellow kayaks rowed around to get close to the sea otters. No sign of fall there with all eyes drawn to the beautiful blue water. All the hills are brown, not green like in Kentucky. In places flowers and colorful plants paint the ground red and yellow and pink. Nothing you’ll see in Kentucky.

Then the retreat was over and it was back on the airplane for the long ride home. 2,310 miles by I 40, but I was traveling Sky 40. An hour and a half by bus to the airport and then four and a half hours to Chicago and another hour home. That didn’t count airport waiting time. A long way home. I wasn’t by a window so I couldn’t see out. We were above the clouds most of the time anyway, but on the little puddle jumper plane from Chicago to Lexington, no one was in the seat beside me so I had a good view of the Kentucky landscape as we came in to the airport. Horse farms and barns. Green pastures and wooden fences. Cows and horses. And the trees got decked out in their autumn colors while I was gone. Reds and golds. Oranges and yellows. A blaze of color unlike anything in California.

So many differences from state to state in our beautiful country. From sea to shining sea. Mountains and rolling prairies. Hills and flat fields. Rocky coasts and sandy beaches. Last week I got to be in two very different states. Life is good. Do you have a favorite state?

The wind was really whipping today when I went out walking to see some of those beautiful fall colors. So this quote seemed perfect.

The autumn wind is a pirate. Blustering in from sea with a rollicking song he sweeps along swaggering boisterously. His face is weather beaten, he wears a hooded sash with a silver hat about his head... The autumn wind is a Raider, pillaging just for fun.  ~Steve Sabol

I’m extending my deadline a few days for my website giveaway. Remember, I’m giving away a NIV Study Bible and a prayer journal and some of my books. If you haven’t entered and would like to throw your name in the hat, just comment here with a way to get in touch with you or send me a message from my my website. I’ve got three days to finish my Shaker Christmas story so that gives all of you some extra time to enter the giveaway since I won’t have time to do the drawing until the end of the week. There will be three lucky winners.

As always, thanks for reading.

In Steinbeck Country

I’ve been in Monterey Bay all week enjoying a writer’s retreat hosted by my literary agency. I’m a long way from home in a lot of ways. Distance for sure, but not as long as some of the other attendees. One writer, Marion Stroud, and her husband are here England. They have been gifting us all week with their lovely accent. Of course, they say we are the ones who have the accent. Another writer, Cathy West and her husband are here from the Bahamas. From one paradise to another.  Me, I’m here from Kentucky – still a long ways by road or air. Took me all day to get here. Will take me all day to get home.

But distance isn’t the only way it’s a long way. I sit here now in the pre-dawn light when at home it’s mid-morning. The waves are crashing against the rocks outside my window. At home, I’d have to walk a ways to hear a creek running downhill over rocks.  Here, I have new and old friends, but no family. Here, I am among dozens of great writers, experienced writers, who are ready and willing to talk and share and give hints on how to improve. At home, all those writer ideas have to come from me.

This is Steinbeck country. He lived here. He loved the place and wrote about it in Cannery Row. Yesterday at lunch he showed up in his slouch hat and sunglasses while we were eating that fabulous dessert I posted on Facebook. Well, not really him, but an actor who pretended to be him and gave us his history. Writers always are eager to hear how our writers did it and he had a beautiful command on the language. Steinbeck, I mean. So we enjoyed.

I am enjoying. Great scenery. Great history. Great company. Today I have more opportunity to learn. I’ll share more when I make that looonnng trip back to where I belong – my home. My roots. That’s what Steinbeck had too. Roots here in Cannery Row.

Where are your roots?

Home Sweet Home

It's a long way from Kentucky to California and a long way back. Glad I wasn't walking the way the pioneers did or perhaps jogging along on a horse or in a covered wagon. One thing though, I'd have gotten a lot better look at the country that way. I watched out the planes' windows (I had window seats all but once) when we weren't above the clouds. I saw snow-covered mountains. I saw rivers snaking across the countryside. I saw shadows of the clouds on the ground. I saw lots of brown looking earth and mountains and cars that looked like ants trundling along strips of black.

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I also saw a beautiful sunset, but didn't attempt to take a picture. Once you're in one of those plane seats next to a big guy, you don't have room to shift your arm enough to turn a page in your book much less wrestle your bag out from under the seat in front of you to find your camera. Guess that's why Kindles are getting so popular with travelers. They don't require more than a whisk of the thumb or finger to get to the next page, or so they tell me. I'm still in the book age, the feel-it-in-your-hands and paper pages age. One good thing, you don't have to turn off a hard copy book when a plane is taking off.

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Monterey Bay was beautiful and it was fabulous meeting other Books & Such writers. Pictures are popping up all over Facebook. Laughing, smiling faces. Or very intense faces as we all tried to learn how to play Bocce. I had never even heard of Bocce before last week. It's sort of like horseshoes with rolling balls and no dirt. I played and promptly lost.

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Oh well, I had the ocean vistas to make up for any Bocce disappointments. The water was a beautiful blue and on the last day we were there the waves were crashing into the shore. Because of the rocky coastline, the waves can be fierce. We had thought about going out whale watching, but the boats wouldn't go out because of the high waves. So we drove down the coastline instead. Just as well. I wouldn't have been able to spot any whales if I was leaning over the rail losing my breakfast. What I really wanted to see was an eagle, but no such luck. That's on my bucket list. To see an eagle flying free in the sky.

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But now back home to reality. Books don't get written by thinking about writing them or talking about writing them. Books only get written by fingers pressing down keys on a keyboard. Still it was great having a little one on one time with my agent and with my editor. They both asked me what next. I said a Shaker book, but they were meaning after the Shaker books. I'm thinking a new historical novel. But that's what the Shaker books are too - historical novels. So who knows? Now I'll just remember the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing and think about how each wave made its own new mark on the sandy beach or did its best to wear down the rocks. That's the way it'll be with my books. Each one will have to mark out its own path.

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Hope you're having a great week with lots of paths open to you. Good paths that lead you to happiness. I'm happy to be home and putting me fingers on that keyboard.