Going for a drive last weekend with my husband, we found ourselves in Kiowa, an hour out of Denver. So we drove up the long dirt road that led to my grandparents' old farm. From the road, we saw the house now painted a chocolate brown. A new barn was added in front of the old barn my grandpa spent hours in there -milking cows and then in his later years working on repairing TV’s in the hay loft.

It was bittersweet looking up to the rock hill where my brothers and sisters used to play. The truth about that rock hill is - I loved playing up there and I hated it. We were sent out to play. The 5 room house (kitchen, living room, two small bedrooms and bathroom) wasn't large enough for 8 children and my parents and my grandparents to hang out for any length of time. 

Rain or shine, we went up that hill behind the house. I can remember each of us commandeering certain sections of the rock hill as our own homes. One of the rocks, we named the Queen's chair. There was a King's chair also but it was smaller. The beauty of having five sisters and only two brothers, girls ruled. 

I think that is why I like writing about an obscure place in time. The Regency Period. A time that lasted less than twenty years. In writing about it, we can go back and imagine a time that is gone. People who lived and breathed, had dreams and disappointments. The phrases they used and the styles they wore. 

  

I can't go back to the rock hill. I will never play there again. It is enough to see it from the road, and remember another time. 

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Snowy and cold in Colorado today, a perfect time to write. But instead, I watched the mail truck slip and slide around our cul-de-sac. Kept thinking I should go out and help when it got stuck and was facing sideways against our neighbor's fence. Then I said to myself, how would I help? I certainly can't push the truck out. I don't know any super- secret ways of steering while a truck slips into countless snowbanks. And lastly, it looked rather cold outside and the wind was blowing. So in the end, I just watched.  And then wrote about it, so you see I’ve come full-circle.  

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The Open Road

I love reading any story whose main character perseveres. Where they may hold so many secrets, but never let those burdens detract from their mission. I’m inspired by such writing, if it is a true story I’m in awe of someone with such integrity.

In truth, we’re all a mixture of the very best and the very worst. We smile and say, “No problem, I can do this.” But our hearts wonder, “Can I?” We live within work days that make it hard to see the beauty of life, itself.

I’ve begun working on the sequel to my first book. Editing, mapping, outlining. I have the story and need to figure out the best way to present it. Both of my main characters are incredibly flawed. Within the first chapter, they are thrown together and in the end must use the skills they’ve developed due to their flaws to save each other. 

So here's to the open road where the sky and the earth seem to touch. And if you look around, you may see some antelope break free.   

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