I’m reading at my favorite local bookstore tomorrow at 2:00: A romance + one of the best hate letters I’ve ever received.
This actually happened:
Two seniors walked into the school courtyard yesterday. They were both holding their phones out in front of them.
Senior 1 said, “Who’s your best friend?”
Senior 2 said, “I’m not sure. Lemme check…” Then he looked at his phone. “Oh, it’s you!”
“Wait, what?” Senior 1 tilted his head his head to the side. “That’s not right.”
“No, it is. Look, you’re my best friend. It says so right here.” He tilted his phone’s screen so his friend could see it.
“Nope,” Senior 1 said. “See this?” Now he held his phone up to his friend’s face. “You’re not my best friend. It says so right here.”
I’m trying out this new idea, an hour at a time:
For an hour.
No checking email, no Twitter, no Facebook. No CBS Sports, no New York Times, no CNN. No following a rabbit trail from Eugene’s 10-Day Forecast on the Weather Channel’s site to Antonio Brown’s Facebook Live fiasco to Youtube’s “The Netherlands Welcomes Trump In His Own Words” (which, trust me, is worth 4 minutes and 4 seconds of your life).
But it’s SO difficult. Especially while writing on a laptop. I go to research something related to my writing, say, Hiroshima 1945, and suddenly I’m reading about how to make sushi with Willamette Valley trout, then off to a fly-fishing trout video filmed in western Montana, then how to pack raft down the Escalante River in Utah.
Wait, what was I talking about?
Right, the internet.
Yes, I recognize the irony of writing about no internet while posting on a blog…on the internet.
But this is real. The addiction. The distraction that is the little guiding Safari compass or gorgeous little orange Firefox wrapped around a globe of pure, pure blue. I want to click them. I want to click them so badly.
Yet, I’ve found a way not to be on the internet, using a mantra. Each morning – when I get up to write, to write a real book, a manuscript, not a post or status update, but a real book – I say this to myself:
“The internet is broken. The internet is very, very broken right now.”
But sometimes I don’t believe myself, so I have to be emphatic:
“The internet is broken WORLD WIDE RIGHT NOW!!! So there’s no possible way it’ll work for the next hour. You can’t search or click anything. You can’t check your notifications.”
The only thing is, sometimes my finger acts of its own volition, just drags that little arrow down, down, down – to the toolbar at the bottom of the screen – and sometimes I even click that internet icon without meaning to and a page pops up, and…
I yell: HIT “COMMAND Q” BEFORE GOOGLE LOADS!
Damn. What is this internet thing, anyway? This vapid little pill?
I used to have a wrestling teammate in college who’d tried crystal meth once – only once, back when he was seventeen years old – and he talked about it for the rest of his life. He said, “There’s nothing like it. Nothing at all. And all I want to do is do it, do it all the time, every single night. I think about it all the time.”
I nod and smile. Say, “Yes, I know what you’re talking about. I too have this little addiction.”
Music inspires so much written art, and it’s fun to think of the music that my characters might listen to. With that in mind, the Huffington Post just published my soundtrack written in the characters’ own words (Natalie, Travis, and Creature from This Is The Part Where You Laugh). Read here, and click the links to listen to each song:
Plate-glass morning water with fish shatters. A hummingbird drops over the tent and hangs in the space created by the rain.
I read a Carol Shields novel and the daylight sneaks through the leaves of the cottonwood, white and green.
It rained steady all evening, and starting a fire was like baking without sugar or flour. But now the sky is striped by blue between clouds, and I think, “How many people in history have tried to write about clouds?”
Nubes como las olas…
Nubes sin mala intención…
Drifting thoughts of clouds…
Or some other cliché…
Better ideas waiting that I’ve never had…
It would be easy to steal. To Thomas Edison. To feed an image of greatness. “Look at me, a worker, a brilliant mind.”
But I am not brilliant. My mind is not a rare jewel. I only observe what is around me. Seeing the green grasshoppers collecting on my legs at the river’s edge. The blue heron shushing across to the other side. The osprey sitting sentinel on the fence-post above the cutbank. Flipping my spinner under the branch in four feet of water and the rainbow trout hitting the Rooster Tail in the first rotation of the reel.
We use two rocks as a plate and eat the fish with our fingers. Skin salted with Johnny’s, MSG, meat blackened over a stick-fire. Hot Tang and Folgers from boiled river water.
These are no proverbs.
These are no parables.
This is only the first day. How it is. How it was.
Really inspiring and just released, this film is the combined work of Brooke Froelich, Morgan Brechler, Ali Geiser, and Shannon Robertson.
In Raising a Wild Child millennial parents turned social-media influencers use the very technologies that threaten to separate them from nature to connect with it—and each other—instead. This family-centric outdoor adventure film shares the stories of parents who are raising their kids on outdoor adventure, and using social media to build a community doing the same.
There work shares a common ground with my book Let Them Be Eaten By Bears.
Reading the poetry of Walt Whitman, Song Of Myself Illuminated, by Allen Crawford (Tin House Books):
Neruda’s Love Sonnet #17 on my arm. Feeling poetic today. Inspired.
Whitman: “Electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.”
Neruda: “te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras…”