Cooler Surprise. Deer Flies. Acres of Lettuce.

There’s a moment on every camping trip where you peer into the cooler to see what’s left floating around down there. A “Cooler Surprise” meal with a bit of everything often has us thinking over the whole trip’s memorable moments. Both the highs and the lows.

This post is kind of a cooler surprise: bits of my summer that might not have much to do with each other, but—to me—they are a rich dish of experience to savor …  and share.

Books On Tape in the Casita

My husband and I like to hunker down after dark (when the bugs are bad) and listen to audio books inside our tiny camper. C. J. Box opens Savage Run  with an exploding cow. (First lines are so very important! For sure.) Then after the cow, while investigating a string of bizarre murders, Wyoming game warden Joe Pickett is forced to flee across treacherous terrain with a brutal tracker on his trail.

In our tight space, dog Raven lying over our feet, we are clearly somewhere in Wyoming, even deep in the Maine woods. We have to force ourselves to stop listening at a reasonable hour.

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“Lumpy, Aged, and Wrinkled Bodies”

“They did not know that lumpy, aged, and wrinkled bodies were as needy as their own young, firm ones, that love was not to be tossed away carelessly . . .”

Today, I want to explore (just a bit) how an author might write about age. Not just write about it, but actually write age.  I was motivated by a very recent Maine Crime Writers post, “Never Too Late?” (Thanks, Maggie Robinson!)

I found lots of authors who paused in the story to have a character give us some aging philosophy—as if from on high. Nope, not what works well I thought. Breaks the story, the tone, the plot’s trajectory.

So I went back to the Pulitzer Prize winning Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth’s Strout’s first Olive novel.

The novel still stuns me, but the first jolt happened many years ago when I read Olive’s lines about loneliness after her husband’s death. For the first time, I understood why my mother, alone after a long marriage, drove daily to the ocean to sit and stare at the water. With tears, I could feel her loneliness because of Olive’s loneliness.

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Seduced to the Natural World

We need nature writing. We need it now more than ever: need to be seduced into the natural world: need to savor what remains or take direction toward finding new landscapes and experiences. We need to manage the grief we feel when we lose a place and its wildlife—or be ready for the grief to come.

Barbara Kingsolver nails that one. “The final stages of grief. Dellarobia felt an entirely new form of panic as she watched her son love nature so expectantly, wondering if he might be racing toward a future like some complicated sand castle that was crumbling under the tide. She didn’t know how scientists bore such knowledge. People had to manage terrible truths.” (From Flight Behavior)

My first exposure to nature writing probably came from Blueberries for Sal:
“On the other side of Blueberry Hill, Little Bear came with his mother to eat blueberries. ‘Little Bear,’ she said, ‘eat lots of berries and grow big and fat. We must store up food for the long, cold winter.’”

But the first time I was literally immersed and awed by it, was reading John Wesley Powell’s original journals of his Colorado River (The Exploration of the Colorado River and its Canyons) while I spent twenty days rafting and hiking that river. I wrapped his journal . . .

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Advice from ‘Butt In The Chair’ Experts

I needed someone wise in my ear this month and a few words of inspiration. Found some!

From Joe Fassler’s interviewing 150 writers:

First Sentence

“The first line must convince me that it somehow embodies the entire unwritten text,” William Gibson said. Stephen King described spending “weeks and months and even years” working on first sentences, each one an incantation with the power to unlock the finished book. And Michael Chabon said that, once he stumbled on the first sentence of Wonder Boys, the rest of the novel was almost like taking dictation. “The seed of the novel—who would tell the story and what it would be about—was in that first sentence, and it just arrived,” he said.

Sound It Out.

“Plot can be overrated. What I strive for more is rhythm,” the late Jim Harrison said. “It’s like taking dictation, when you’re really attuned to the rhythm of that voice.” George Saunders described a similar process . . .
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