I am twelve days into what I am euphemistically calling a "vacation." This is not a research trip or a short getaway, but a planned and prolonged two months of getting my mojo back. In the thirty-plus years of my writing career I've never taken downtime, always motivated by this debt or that mortgage payment. . . .
Every couple weeks, Boston Marathon champion Des Linden sends me my training plan for this year's marathon. She is a generous coach, quick to respond to texts and extremely encouraging. There are wrinkles in the training I did not foresee, but those secrets are hers and not for me to share. Suffice to say there's variety in the work.
I turn 60 in a few weeks. Fifty leveled me, making me realize that I was definitely near or past the halfway mark of this life. I spent that day in my office, a little stunned. Couldn't write. Went to get a haircut. The barber asked if I wanted a beer, which is always a great thing for any barber to suggest….
I bought a pressure washer the other day. I've wanted one for years. I didn't get around to it until Sadie, our new puppy, began leaving indelicate memories on our backyard pavers. The sort of memories that leave a stain. There is a price to be paid for having a backyard without grass and giving free reign to a puppy many weeks away from being housebroken….
Once upon a time I worked as a deckhand on party boat in Newport Harbor. A normal cruise ran two hours and started with the busy-ness of pouring drinks, serving brunch, and clearing dishes. But once all that was done and the guests settled down to find the bar on their own there was no need to stay below….
It's been awhile since I wrote in this space, so I thought I'd pass along a little update over what I've been doing this past year. Last spring, just as Covid was beginning to look like a long term issue, I began working on the first book of my own in ten years. The title is TAKING PARIS. It's about World War II. I love it.
I'm the guy who writes books in his garage office in slippers and sweatpants, and very often little else. So I'm in no position to judge my neighbors, be it the mom next door banging on her keyboards while trying to teach herself music, her son with a passion for purchasing old police cars, or my other next door neighbor from China whose husband died suddenly two years ago and who has suddenly found fashion sense and purchased a stylish Mercedes.
For a great number of years, more than I care to count, I filled my down time with training. I was always training for some new grail: marathons, triathlons, adventure races, mud runs, and on. I wasn't a professional, so the hours couldn't always be justified and more than once led to a major-major-major fight with Callie. But training was my jam.
