It's been a while since I've blogged, but I've been experiencing a writing draught. It's like the flu, annoying, painful at times, hard to shake without plenty of rest, a downright nasty feeling for a writer. Actually, I was unaware I was suffering until it lifted.
It began in August. Not only had my romance writing trickled down to barely one-hundred words a day, but I'd become critical of every word I typed. Not even my worst rejection letter, a business card stapled to my SASE saying "No," in pencil, had quelled my enthusiasm in such a monumental way. For weeks after Dallas I'd been on a writer's high, bursting with words, largely due to making new friends (special Hi to JP, Vicki, Kat, Kathy, Melissa, Mary, Maggie, Melanie), and my meetings with Diana Carlise and Brenda Chin. Then those blasted letters started arriving from Phoenix Bankruptcy Court. I won't bore you with what's happening, but the fight to get my rights back to, Never My Love, had eroded the part of me that found writing a joy, and cursed my folly to pursue my publishing dreams.
Everything changed this weekend. For all the failed attempts to drive there the past two years, I wanted to hang a sign, "Lake Placid or Bust," on the Mustang. After several wrong turns(a 3 1/2 hour ride according to Mapquest took 6 hrs), in a raging downpour I'd arrived in Lake Placid. It's true what they say. Magic happens here.
As I approached the town, two black swooping structures, one half the size of the other, loomed in the distance between colorful leaves, reminding me of a mother dragon and child. Frightened at the thought of skiing down the things, I raced past. A banner over the road declared the, "Flaming Leaves Festival," was underway this weekend at the Ski Jump Hill, a serendipitous sign. Eager to see more, especially all the places I'd written about from memory, I turned down Main street.
Main Street had changed, cramped with more stores, choking with traffic. The sidewalks were pumpkin-colored cobblestones, something I'd forgotten. I ate lunch at Charlie's, the former Goldberries Restaurant, Cassie's favorite. Roomer's, the night club where Cassie and Evan met after four long years, wouldn't be open until evening, but ZigZag's, a local bar, was open. There, I had a drink, silently toasting my return, praying Cassie and Evan's story will someday become published.
Next I drove, not walked, up the steep hill to the Wood Lake Inn, recalling a romantic scene set there. Due to the mist, Mirror Lake was barely visible, but I sentimentally took photos. Unfortunately, the rain was so heavy, I decided to leave early, without climbing to the summit of Mount Jo, or seeing the endless view from White Face Mountain. I promised myself that next time I'll stay the weekend, climbing during the day, and dancing in Roomer's Night Club until dawn. Maybe I'll talk to few mountain men. ;)
Thank you Patricia, for being the most patient, adventurous, traveling buddy. Next time I won't turn off 87N, no matter how badly mother nature is calling. (Good thing we didn't bring Harold!)
So, do you have a magical place? Take a minute, or more, to share. And be sure to check out the changes to my website. I've decided to post the first chapter of, Never My Love. And the magic continues...