Once upon a time I lived on the only raging, free flowing river in Colorado. The Animas.
Six acres, a log cabin and fly fishing rights plus a view to the mountains.
I opened my clutching fingers and let that go. Such illusory matter fills the vaporous dreams we try to hold as they float in and out of our lives like wisps of white clouds.
Now I just write about “THE DREAM.”
At that moment, during the writing process, I am there again. I hear the sounds of the river crashing over boulders, smell the scent of juniper and clear mountain air, see the azure color of the Colorado sky at 7500 feet. And all of our log cabin days will one day come to a close at the end of our personal circle, the end that begins again somewhere, somehow, as circles tend to do.
Now, I ask myself, do I novel again or remain with the short story?
Prasanga, the main protagonist of the Wisdom Keepers, (an old novel written in the depths of amateur days on the river in the mountains) nudges at me again. And here comes Prasanga to pull out the creative spirit from deep within my soul.
A novel creeps through my skin again. I had once declared: “Never again.”
He and I spent years together on the Animas River in Durango. We’re at it again. However, will Prasanga survive the low hills of Gainesville, Florida? Will he enjoy the green forests, screeching hawks and peacocks on his roof? Will Prasanga put Colorado behind him and live again in a novel written in a university town?
That, my friends, remains the question.
Your kayak has sprung a leak on icy mountain waters. You struggle with raging whitewater, surrounded by heavy spruce forests and rocky shoreline and not a person in sight.
What do you do?
250 words minimum and 1000 maximum on what, how and the rest…