Jul
6
Campfires, salamanders, skip-flat rocks, unwashed hair, musty sleeping bags, fast-melting ice cream bars, cousins-aunts-uncles-grandparents-friends, wet towels, waterbirds, plastic shovels, creaking boat oars, the startle-flop of a hooked fish, smelly lifejackets, crispy molten-centered marshmallows, evening bats, lingering gunpowder smoke. Summer!
On the way to the Vincent Creek/Smith River area last Thursday night. We drove down to the cabin from Seattle, left Dylan with his grandparents, re-packed the truck and headed out another 45 minutes to get to the campsite.
The official campground was full and we were thinking well shit when JB spotted a tiny drivable spot that led down to the water.
It was shallow enough to cross and we—okay, mostly JB—shlepped all our camping gear over to a beautiful stretch of rocks on the other side of the river. (I know, right? Hello beefcake.)
Totally secluded area, gorgeous scenery, child losing his mind with the joy of his first camping trip. My god, what more could a person ask for?
OH THAT’S RIGHT: MARSHMALLOWS.
If you don’t burn your marshmallow to a flaming ball of sugary death, peel off the crispy blackened carcinogenic layer, eat it, then burn the insides at least two more times, I don’t even want to know you.
JB found a bunch of these creepy motherfuckers and proceeded to freak us right the hell out by picking them up with his actual fingers.
Later, Riley and I pretended to be crawdads. PINCH PINCH PINCH OH HO HO I GOT YOU HA HA HA listen it’s funny if you’re three.
I wish Dylan was in this photo, but I don’t wish that hard enough to second-guess our decision not to bring him, because this would have been an entirely different experience had we been chasing a toddler around the rocks/water/open flames the whole time. Next year, little D.
We came back to the cabin on Friday, and that’s where we stayed for the rest of the weekend. JB and his brother carried out their annual Boomapalooza over the river, and it was awesome as always.
Riley stuck it out for the small fireworks . . .
. . . although he wasn’t too happy about them. Once the big ones started, he assumed his usual position inside the cabin with Grandma, who is another member of Team I Hate Loud-Ass Explosions.
The weather was phenomenal all weekend and we spent a lot of time on the water.
It’s hard to tell in this picture but you should be totally impressed and shit because that rock I just jumped off was about fifty seven trillion feet high. I’m pretty badass, especially with my plugged nose and all.
Riley got to hang out with his cousin Brodie and you can just tell they’re going to be friends forever. I love seeing those two playing together.
I feel like I take this exact photo every time we go to the cabin, but what can I say, it’s pretty out there.
Who’s tired from this perfect summer weekend? All of us, man.
Last, I’ll leave you with probably the most patriotic video ever captured in the history of mankind. It’s so goshdarn all-American in its content I will caution that your boss may not appreciate you playing the audio at top volume, so you may want to consider turning down your speakers before enjoying.
Happy Fourth of July, Bald Eagle! from Linda Lee on Vimeo.
Happy fuckin’ 4th of July, friends. Hope you had a good one.
Jul
1
The most difficult thing for me about writing fiction (other than the time constraints, the interruptions, the laptop-induced carpal tunnel, the unfamiliar and horrifyingly pervasive sense of writer’s block, and the gaping black hole in my brain where things like “grammar” and “punctuation” are supposed to live, that is) is the realization that my memory isn’t just bad, it’s terrible. It seems to me that one of the key elements in being a really good writer is the ability to draw upon past experiences with clarity and intensity, that even if you’re writing pure fiction describing events that never actually happened it’s immensely helpful if you can remember certain aspects of life you’ve experienced firsthand in order to create a believable, solid framework for your story.
Take The Glass Castle, for instance. I mean, even if it turned out that Walls’ book was not based on fact, you’ve got to hand it to her for creating a fully authentic, exquisitely detailed account of someone’s childhood, and a lot of that has to come from remembering what it’s like to be young, right? And if it’s all true, well what the FUCK, how does a person have such a phenomenal memory that they can vividly describe conversations and emotions that happened thirty years ago or more?
I wonder if spending 7+ years writing online has had an effect on how I think about that stuff. When you’re so used to writing down things that are happening at the moment, maybe it becomes harder to dig deeper for the things that require a different access method, you know? It’s certainly affected my patience; I feel like I’m trying to switch from having short conversations to carrying out a terribly long-winded monologue where my voice just drones on and on and ON and oh my god, self, shut UP. Plus, there’s this entirely different concept of having to keep coming back to the story, whether I want to or not—I can’t just merrily toss it out to sea like all the little bobbing bottles saved on this website.
In short, this whole writing endeavor is about a thousand times harder than I had guessed it would be, and dude, I was already operating under the assumption that it would be really damn hard. As for a progress report, I completely scrapped the first 3000 or so words of the story I was starting to write and went back to the drawing board so now I have, like, four paragraphs of this so-called book and it starts with someone with a gun in their mouth. Yeah, I’m not sure either.
Anyway, I have some ideas for where I’d maybe like to take the story and I could use some help from you guys, if you’re willing. I’m looking to talk with people who have worked interesting jobs and wouldn’t mind describing them to me. Anything that’s a little out of the ordinary but recognizable—like, say, a dog groomer, floral arranger, bike mechanic, rafting guide . . . that kind of thing. If you’re so inclined, hit me up in the comments or via email, I’d love to hear from you.
In non-writing news, we’re heading back down to Oregon this weekend for a long holiday at the cabin. I predict lots of whining about the drive, a complete disregard for eating healthfully, and the familiar epiphany that no matter how good of a time you’re having, if the kids are there, it’s not really a vacation.
Whatever you’re up to this weekend, may your fingers be fireworks-injury-free, your crappy food be plentiful, and your family not drive you completely batshit. See you next week!
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