Every first Wednesday of the month, the IWSG (Insecure Writer’s Support Group) engages writers to share their fears, thoughts, progress, struggles, excitement, encouragement, or anything really, about their writing. A different question is posed each month, as a writing prompt for IWSG members. Answering it is optional. For December, the question is: “What are five objects we’d find in your writing space?”
This amazing, supportive group of writers was founded by Alex J. Cavanaugh. Today, the co-hosts are J.H. Moncrieff, Tonja Drecker, Patsy Collins, and Chrys Fey. Feel free to swing by their sites and see what they’re up to.
Answer to the question (“What are five objects we’d find in your writing space?”)
Probably the same items you find in other writers’ writing space – a laptop, a mouse, a glass of water (or cup of tea), a strong light, and a desk – with the major difference that everything but the laptop and the mouse changes whenever we move houses to take care of people’s animals.
Book Progress
What was I thinking when Mark and I moved into our camper van Zesty indefinitely, at the end of July? That I’d be able to combine daily errands, sightseeing, driving, hiking, and translation jobs with writing/editing my memoir? Ha! And, it’s not that I didn’t know better, after running our own business from a sailboat in the middle of nowhere and from a couple of campers for years. Combining work, life and leisure on the road (or the water) is tough, leading to the insane and the impossible! Yes, Mark and I are good at making a challenging lifestyle just a tad more challenging.
Enough about my wishful thinking, my naivety despite experience, and my conviction that “it might work out this time.” It didn’t. I can’t concentrate hours on end to work on my book when: 1) my laptop’s battery only lasts three hours, 2) we have limited data on our cell phone acting as a hotspot; the same cell phone Mark uses for navigation when he goes on bike rides, 3) two people occupy the same 10 square feet and one stowable table simultaneously, 4) a paid job pops up each time I attempt to pick up that memoir again, and 5) we stay in all these amazing places full of discovery and adventure.
So, Mark and I are house sitting again for the time being. It truly is the only way this memoir will get done. And, I’m happy to report that, after five (!) months of inactivity, I have started editing my work in progress (WIP), with the help of my wonderful beta readers who provided comments, suggestions and alterations. It is daunting, and it is fun. Again, my appreciation goes out to all the people who invested time and effort so I can complete this next stage.
Revisit to Monterey, CA
If I ever settle somewhere, Monterey would make a competitive candidate. For years, I have been looking forward to revisiting this city in Northern California. Ever since I fell in love with it thirteen years ago. That didn’t happen under the greatest of circumstances, and Monterey unexpectedly became our home for five weeks (see excerpt underneath).
A month ago, as we were making our way south through California, a day trip to Monterey was on the agenda. Then, a humongous translation job arrived in my inbox, something that never happened before: a class action lawsuit, 80 pages long, over 23,000 words to translate from English to Dutch. It was overwhelming. It was boring. But I had the time and needed the money.
Mark and I settled ourselves at the Veterans Memorial Park Campground for $30 a night. We usually never pay for camping and this was expensive for what it was: a primitive campsite with a picnic table and a fire ring we weren’t allowed to use. Granted, there were restrooms with two basic hot water showers as well, an improvement to our free camping choices. And, I could bike to the library to use their electricity and WiFi. In the mornings, I’d work in the camper until my laptop battery was dead and after lunch in the library until closing time.
To save money, we left the campground every three days, to park elsewhere for the night, undercover.
After a week, the job was done and I could finally revisit my beloved Monterey. Until the smoke from the fires down south reached us, the weather was sunny with blue skies, the ocean vistas endless, the water super-clear, reminding us of the Caribbean, and the wildlife ever-present. Sea lions, seals, a plethora of birds, and my friends, the sea otters, happily played in the bays. How I enjoy being in this place!
One day, Mark and I biked the attractive bike trail along the waterfront, and continued on 17-Mile Drive. By car you have to pay for this scenic ride. We turned around in Pebble Beach, to climb back up to the campground. Once again, the town didn’t disappoint, and we got stuck longer than planned. Luckily, it was for very different reasons than in 2005.
Memoir Excerpt
We follow the California coastline with full sails and enjoy the wind in our hair. Darwin needs time to relax, but finds his sweet spot in the cockpit, while Kali pants and stands for hours on end. It hurts to watch this behavior. When I take her inside the tilted boat to comfort her, she climbs the couch and the wall, thinking it’s the floor. I swallow hard. My mind balks. Moments later, being inside triggers my physical discomfort as well. Soon enough, I hang over the transom again. Three out of four crew members are disabled and unhappy. It doesn’t make the fourth one feel any better. Mark has to do everything himself again: steer the boat, attend to the sails, make lunch, check the charts, and discourage his loved ones from wanting to die.
A few hours into the trip, the mainsail rips. Now we have to motor. This reduces our progress, is loud, and smells. The exhaust fumes stimulate my nausea.
“I don’t know whether I can do this,” I whisper to Mark. I hate to admit defeat.
“Yes, this sucks,” he answers. “Everything is going wrong. Look at the dogs. They’re miserable. And, so are you.” We suffer in silence. I don’t know how to proceed on this voyage. I don’t want to give up either. As if on cue, at the height of our misery, a pod of dolphins brightens our wake, followed by an ensemble of sea lions.
“This is amazing!” I scream, forgetting our situation. “How do they know that we’re feeling like crap? It’s so nice of them to try and cheer us up.” I wordlessly thank the creatures, and smile at Mark. He’s not impressed and remains deep in thought.
Our attempt to arrive in Monterey before nightfall fails. A couple of hours after the sun set, we limp into the public marina, where helping hands tie us up. We’re exhausted and demotivated. Unable to do anything about our issues that evening, we walk to the buzzing commercial area and decide to eat out. The whole restaurant spins. I can barely focus my eyes on the table in front of me. My belly can’t handle more than a spoonful of clam chowder. What a waste. I walk back to our dock like a drunken sailor. This is messed up! My conversation with Mark stops dead in its tracks when we reach the same sentiment: is this what we want to do? Really? Who would choose to be miserable on the ocean? But, it’s Mark’s dream to go sailing, and we’ve worked hard to turn this dream into reality…
Have you ever been to Monterey? What is your favorite city in the US, or elsewhere?
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