This morning I left the “yurt colony,” and turned in my key. Now I’m back in the physical world, trying to figure out how I ended up writing about 2000 words less than last time. It’s kinda disappointing, but I still accomplished quite a bit.
One of the problems was that I over-prepared. I had detailed outlines for the next five chapters, which was a good thing, but also went to bed at 9 pm the night before my first day inside the hippie pod.
I was determined to go into it refreshed, and swinging for the fences. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in days, in order to have a clear head. It was all far too healthy, and weird.
I turned the lights off at 9:00 that night, and was clear-cutting timber by 9:05. As planned. But at 12:30 I jerked awake, and couldn’t go back to sleep. I wallowed around, trying to find the magic position, but was fully awake with no change in sight.
What the hell, man? Tomorrow’s an important day, and here you are rolling around on a raised platform for hours on end… You’re blowing it, tubby: self-sabotage.
I moved to the couch in the living room, but couldn’t get comfortable there. So I took my pillow and blankie to the family room, and that was a little better. A few times I would start to drift off, and my mind would kick in: GO TO SLEEP! YOU’VE GOT TO GET SOME SLEEP!! And I’d be wide awake again.
Toney got up around 4:30 (she exercises at that time of day, if you can believe it…) and I returned to our bed. Where I konked-out, fully. And when the alarm went off at 7:00, it felt like my brain was swollen and pressing against the inside of my skull.
So, that first day was a struggle. I worked for at least twelve hours, but the words weren’t exactly rocketing off my keyboard. It was like trying to squeeze toofpaste out of an empty tube.
The campground was almost totally abandoned. It was just me, an elderly man and woman in an expensive fifth-wheel, and a holler trash couple in one of the cabins.
The cabin couple had a cocker spaniel with them, even though dogs are not allowed. I took a walk in the afternoon, to get my blood pumping, and the guy tried to hide the hound by moving it behind a picnic table.
I felt like telling him I didn’t care if he had a dog. Heck, I wouldn’t care if he brought in a tiger. What’s it to me? It’s no skin off my scrote.
But he seemed like the kind of guy who angers easily, and speaks this sentence on a regular basis: “Hey, you got some kind of problem, asshole?” So, I just kept walking and said nothing. I was praying the old man and woman in the fifth wheel wouldn’t turn him in; he’d think it had been me, and would probably show up at my roundhouse with a Rambo blade.
I went home around 8:00 that night, had a quick dinner, drank a beer or two, and watched an episode of Prison Break. Normal activities in moderation is better than all that completely foreign goodie-goodie bullshit.
The next day was much better and I wrote some strong stuff (I believe). If every day had been like that one, I’d be celebrating a complete victory today. But, unfortunately, I took things too far. Oh well.
I’m still a big fan of the yurt for writing purposes. It’s completely quiet out there (as long as I go when school is in session), cheap ($33 per day), surprisingly nice, and there’s no internet. The internet is my biggest enemy, I think. The library near our house has wiffy, and I can’t stay off of it. I go there to write, and spend 50% of my time dicking around on the Web. I have no self-control — I mean, look at me.
On Friday evening, after people were getting home from work I guess, the campground started to liven up. It was far from full, but there were probably twenty or twenty-five campers out there. And a metric shitload of hollering kids. Is hollering fun? Apparently it’s nothing short of fantastic.
Toney and the boys came for a visit, and we built a campfire. It was great. We ate dinner, sat around the fire, and had a good time. There was a bit of fall in the air, and it was just a perfect evening.
Then a park ranger stopped by, in his giant SUV, and told us we weren’t allowed to have two vehicles at the site. We’d have to move one to the parking lot, by the front gate. And he wasn’t being very nice about it.
Incredible. The place was about one-third full, most sites were empty, and he was enforcing every little rule down to the letter.
Toney was about to let him have it, we were right on the cusp of a “situation,” but I interrupted and told the guy we’d move one of the cars. I’d had trouble with that asshole before, he’s the type who wants everyone to know who’s in charge. It wouldn’t have ended in our favor, if we’d gone all scorched-earth on him.
Here’s an artist’s rendering of the man. As you can see, he’s quite nondescript.
I’m going back for another session in October, and am still planning to have the book completed by November 1. The first draft, anyway. I’ve allowed it to drag out for far too long, and now’s the time for extreme measures.
Thanks for your patience, during the site’s downtime.
I’ll get back to the “normal” on Monday.