On Tuesday, I managed to get my butt in the driver’s seat around 10 a.m. (only an hour after expected departure–that’s a pretty good record for me) and did the 11-hour drive down to Bodega in one fell swoop.
It rained–the entire drive. The great and the terrible thing about inclement weather on a long trip is that it requires constant attention and alertness. No way to fall asleep, but no way to relax, either. And I have to admit that Stephenie Meyer’s The Host is not nearly as bad as I’d been expecting. The premise is brilliant and very creative, even if it feels like a bit of an Animorphs rip-off. The romance scenes are over-the-top and gag-worthy, not unlike Meyer’s past projects, but the rest of it is rather… well-written? Does that sound crazy? It does. But I think it’s true. Except for the part where this book is 600 pages long and really doesn’t need to be. For all the things right in The Host, including a protagonist who is fascinating and lovable and utterly strange (with an equally strange and yet totally delightful backstory), this book moves at an agonizingly slow pace. Meyer has gone right on past “reasonable amounts of detail” into “who the hell cares” territory and it is almost physically painful.
Regardless. I made it here with another half of my audiobook to spare, and getting some time off the grid has been… marvelous. I’m almost finished with Gryphon and working through in my head how to revise and rewrite The Aeronauts. Here is where I am living:
I love my boat. I’ll get some pictures next time of the interior (super minimalist, with a raised platform bed surrounded by windows) but this will have to do for now. Everything inside smells like cedar wood and countryside. There’s no restroom but there is a kitchenette, which I don’t use. My friend’s house is a skip and a jog away, so I’ve learned to pee in the garden or race back to the house for food, hot water, and other unmentionables.
And though I am alone most of the day, since my friend works a 9-to-5 and goes to school afterwards, I never really feel alone. I brought my pet rats with me (strapped the aquarium into the back of my car with a seatbelt and they did just fine) and they are big cuddlers during the day; then there’s Bach, the Catahoula Leopard Dog (with some kind of shepherd-y breed mixed in) who follows me like a shadow, just to make sure I don’t get into any trouble while he’s not around. Oh, hey, time to go feed the chickens? Cool. I’ll come with you. Taking out the trash? Can I come? Hey. I love you. I hardly know you but I love you like crazy.
Man. Love me some dogs. Not to mention the cat, Wilbur, which is more stuffed animal than cat; you can pick him up and hold him however you like, swing him around, make him into a scarf, whatever, and he will still love you to the ends of the earth and back. He likes to sit on top of the boat and watch me do my stuff.
My little sentry.
Thanks for reading. There is this little problem of no phone or internet access, so updates will be irregular (as will tweets, text messages, phone calls, et cetera) but I’m sure you’ll survive.
Report back soon!