January 12, 2009

So, I’m up in the mountains, working (ahem) on novel #2.  I’m in Highlands, NC, where my parents have a house.  The house is quite amazing, on top of a hill, overlooking a national forest, smoky mountains surrounding the whole thing.  My dog Raney is up here with me, and my guess is that she believes she is in heaven.  She’s off leash up here, and there are two dogs down the street who she loves to run around with.  The dogs’ owner, Charles, ate oysters the other night and tossed the empty shells off his deck.  Raney sniffed them out, and has made a game out of finding the oyster shells and bringing them to her little lair in front of my parent’s house.  It’s pretty cute.

The wind whips around up here at night and the house shakes. And it’s cold as a witch’s titty. I’m wearing longjohns, wool socks, the works. It’s lonely too, since Alan is in Atlanta and no one else is around.  Charles, the oyster eating neighbor, is a real mensch, and there’s another neighbor, Peg, who is 81 but looks about 55.  (Must be the good, fresh mountain air?  Or more likely, good genes?) So I do have some company, but  mostly it’s just Raney and me.  (Not Marley & me.)  Should be the perfect setup to write, write, write, and yet still–I find ways to distract myself.  Like taking Raney on walks to see the waterfall, or watching the Golden Globe awards on TV, or hanging out in town, at Buck’s coffeeshop, checking email…

The other night I locked Raney inside the house and went into town to check email, and when I came back she was outside.  I SWEAR every door was locked, so I guess she’s figured out how to unlock doors.  Scary how smart that dog is.
 

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