Notes from Maine - 2021/07/11

It was nineteen years ago today that I put up the last board on my fence. It’s a simple three-rail white fence made of hemlock, and it took me six weeks to put up. I had to squeeze in fence time here and there to get the 1200 feet (350m) done. Friends helped with the post holes and then I was pretty much on my own for putting up the boards. I’ve done a lot of big projects here over the years. Building a fence is a simple grind. There’s no complexity and no interesting details. There’s just another board to cut and nail into place. I have to replace rails every year. One of these days I’ll have to start over with a completely new fence. I don’t know if I have it in me.

Interim solutions become permanent. It’s the same thing with the barn. I figured that if I could put up a barn and get fifteen years out of it, I could devise the best way to build the second version of it. I doubt I’ll ever get to that second version. The first one is dirty and needs paint, but it’s still structurally fine. Each fall it gets slightly more difficult to throw the hay up into the loft and I think that I should come up with a better solution. As soon as the job is done, the urgency to fix the process goes with it.

I’ll have to make a list of major projects and then pick one to do each year. That approach has worked for me in the past. I have to break up the constant looming pressure of things to be done so I can tick them off one at a time.

Writing is easier for me. 

When I start a project, I have no intention of ever finishing it. I put words down each day and try to make sure that the book stays on track. Sometimes, they get away from me. I remember one book (After We Live Forever) that just kept going and going. I had been working on it for months before I realized that it was the longest book I had written to date. Then, a few weeks after that, I realized that it was nowhere close to done. I still love that book though. It was wonderful to get lost in all those details and realize that Holly still had more to do.

I’ve written a lot this year, but I don’t think I’ve published anything yet. It’s all just sitting here on my computer and backed up here and there. It will be good to finally release these books into the world when I finally get the edits done and find covers for them. A couple of them don’t even have titles yet. I suppose I need to make a list for my books as well. I need to prioritize the final steps that will help me get these books out the door so I can tick them off my list.

Today reminds me of a day a few years ago. It was amazingly hot, right around this time of year. A bunch of us decided to have a beach day, but everyone in the state had the same idea so the beaches were all full. Instead, we ended up going up to my father’s camp* to go swimming and boating in the lake. *Around here, if you have a little cabin next to a lake, they call it a “camp”. 

It was a perfect day. 

On the way home, I caught a ride with my friend Christine. Everyone calls her Chrissy. A few years ago, I asked her why she was Chrissy some places and Christine others. She said that Chrissy was grandfathered in because that was her name growing up, but she felt like people treated her like a child sometimes so she went by Christine when she could. My sister and I both made the same transition (although years ago). We abandoned our childhood nicknames and took our adult form. I felt like I understood her position, so I started calling her Christine. I think I’ll go back to Chrissy (for her name, not for my own). It’s weird when I’m the only one in the group calling her Christine.

Anyway, it was me, Emilio, and Christine headed home. We stopped to help a guy with a flat tire who was dressed to formally to change it. It was a rental car and he was going to his daughter’s summer camp recital or something. I think I’ve told this story before. I made a joke about the hot weather and checking in on elderly neighbors (Emilio is a year or two older than I am). Christine suggested I write a book about checking in on an elderly neighbor, so I did. 

The book is called “Until the Sun Goes Down” and it remains one of my favorite books. I’ll always remember driving home, looking through Christine’s (Chrissy’s) car window, and thinking about a good deed that leads to disastrous results.

I’m finishing a book right now. At the very end, a book requires less creativity and more bookkeeping. I have to make sure I remember all the loose ends. When I’m writing but not exercising much creativity, new ideas flood in. I try to remember one or two so I’ll have a running start on the next book.