My writing desk at camp–though most of my writing is done on my laptop on my lap. No matter where I am. A desk is hard on my upper back. These days that little bunk has an upper bunk over the top of it — as it always functions as our guest room as well. Out that window is a view of the Little Two Hearted River and our 35 acres of mostly red and white pines (the jack pine we thinned out a few years ago).
Another writing desk in my bedroom.
This is about the time we usually close the camp due to too much snow and a very long unpaved drive in. But this year we haven’t been there since early Nov. I like seeing these pictures, though, because it inspires me to write. Instead I am writing here:
My mother’s bed and I have my lap top perched on my lap as I write this.
I am revising my memoir. But she is not far from my mind or my fantasy novel project. She has been gone since 1994 and as I write this I get distracted from my writing revisions for the moment to think of remodeling/updating this house which we hope to keep in the family–another type of revision.
I want a gas double oven, new leather couches, a new dining table, and an updated bathroom — I want to add a powder room or another small bathroom. I want a new kitchen sink and faucet. This carpet is getting worn and I am thinking wood floor. Though mom liked the warmth on her feet and as chilly as this room is, she might be right.
Revision is change, of course, but not without that connection to the past–what I’ve written already, influenced by the synchronicity of the moment. There can be no revision without the past and that’s what our lives our–every single day–revision. In the case of my mother’s house–influenced in every way by her spirit and her taste. She loved wood and metal and I do, too, though not sure she’d like my industrial camp the way I do.
This house will be a melding, a joining, of mom and me. I don’t want to change too much with Dad still living here–not much revision yet–he removed as much of my mother as he wanted to from this house and even if he’d like my updates, I’m careful not to change too much of either of them…
I think about my daughter for a moment and how she told me last night how lucky she was to have parents like she had, and that she was so proud of me. Another revision of sorts. She and I are collaborating on the next cookbook I write — a carnivore one. We will write this one together since she is an amazing photographer. I’ll write–she’ll photograph–and we’ll both develop, adapt, and test recipes. Equal billing.
Meanwhile, back to my memoir…
Dreams: They were crazy again. I dreamed mostly about my little grandson crawling everywhere–he was much smaller, hanging from a rear view mirror–my daughter assuring me he was fine–crawling here and there with me worrying he’d be hurt somehow (likely a result of a recent posting online about a toddler who put a plugged-in phone charger in his mouth and died). There was a lot more to this dream, but I failed to write it down first thing as dad was up early and required my attention. He set off his fall device twice last night and this a.m. But it was a very disjointed dream, I remember that–more things like babies hanging from rear view mirrors like fuzzy dice or images of Jesus.
Happy Monday! How go your revisions??