I’m not sure why, but this time of the year has always made me restless. I want to get away, break out of the mold and stretch my wings a little. I long to fly to places unknown, to shoulder a pack and hike across a country with which I’m not familiar, to taste and smell and see things out of my ordinary. The languor of summer dissipates in direct correlation to the advancing numbers on the calendar page. I know they’re coming, those crisp, clear days of autumn, and I want to be a part of something larger than my familiar surroundings.
I’m trying to turn that want into creating the landscape of my work in progress, to become so immersed in it that I can run my fingers over its textures, breathe in its scents, savor its flavors. This is a chance to let my imagination run wild within the confines of my story’s setting.
I grew up in the area about which I’m writing, and it’s those flavors from childhood that I remember and tap into. The video in my mind’s eye colors the images that flow from my fingertips onto the computer screen. Whippoorwills and meadowlarks, family-owned shops, sand in your shoes, snowball fights, firelight, a trip to the bookstore, Christmas trees, milkweed pods and birch bark, homemade cookies, falling in love, wet bathing suits, stories before bed and becoming a family. For this newest book, these are the shutter stops on my camera lens.