On this icy day in February, I’m trying to piece together a novel based on my travels out west. I’ve been writing for this book since I got back at the end of December. It tries to trace the transit I took between SF and Big Sur down to LA and back up again, while examining the heart ache and subsequent growth I experienced along the way. Some of the things I write about are real, most of them are borderline fictions. In real life, this all happened within the span of a few weeks, but the moon nearly broke my spirit while I was out there, and my recovery from this fall led to a much stronger identity.
It seems like a plot line people would enjoy. Way too poetic an adventure to skip writing about it. Now to finish it.