They say "don't worry, the fans don't start booing until July."** Oh, yes, my fans, they have been booing. I hear you. I'm not writing enough on here, in large part because I'm writing more on here:
At long last, I introduce you to the first Rox and Roll novel, outlined over the past few months and begun in earnest today, in the place in which I've been wanting to start it. I'm not going to say anything about it except that I have confidence that it'll be huge. And while I know that I can write well, I don't often have the confidence to oversell something that I haven't yet written; but I predict that the sales of this mighty little book will keep me in supply of plane tickets to write in this little spot anytime I want to write here. Here's hoping, anyway!
Because my creative button has been turned on, I also did a little of this today:
I played guitar in sixth grade and gave it up, in part because my small little hands make playing a B-minor chord outright impossible unless I use the three-fret, four-string cheat. In other words, I overthought it all, and now, I'm relaxing. I rented a guitar for the month, ostensibly so that Petunia can brush up before playing in 7th grade music class -- but she's at sleepaway camp, and I've almost remembered "Teach Your Children Well." So, there.
I'm also just enjoying being home in these Green Mountains. Here's a picture from a recent drive:
And the whole family is enjoying one nine-pound doggie who gets to know the freedom of acreage in the summertime, running so fast that she looks like a hovercraft. Here's a picture of our sweet Lola on a break from all of that craziness:
And here's one of her in her favorite spot at night, head turned to look at the sunlight shining through our little forest, lighting up the sleeping porch on which the Guv and I knock back some Long Trails at night while watching fireflies and giving some thought to how it all came to be:
Life, summed up from the past week in these Green Mountains: it's not always easy, and happiness sure as hell isn't guaranteed. But, sometimes, you go to a happy place, and you remember the possibilities of following an unexpected road and coming out in a place that ends up being better than the expected one, and then you embrace the power to change yourself to meet that blind turn with a new and lofty goal: to start writing your story, to pick up a guitar, to fly your flag, to run freely through the grass, and to reach the end of the day and know that it's all good enough.
I love these mountains. They give me perspective that I cannot get when life's chaos is buzzing around me. My head is clear, and I have reclaimed something I lost over the past year: a belief that the world is a fundamentally good place from which I stand poised to make a real difference if that's what I choose to do. And I do choose to do that, starting with changing my attitude back to the positive thing it always was. I do love Silicon Valley, but it started to rot me. I need to remember where I'm from a little more often, and I need to not forget who I am.
And with that, dear fans, please boo me no more, for I am back and promise to deliver not only a reasonable amount of blog fodder, but also one terrific first book. Stay tuned...
* With apologies to Robert Frost, from whose poem "The Road Not Taken" I stole this title. He lived in Vermont for a while, so I don't think he'd mind.
** The quote at the beginning is a baseball one, attributed to Earl Weaver, who must not have known about the Red Sox, because those fans start booing before the season even begins. Really, Boston, so rude.