Life: Writing Lockdown

Fenced InIt’s time to pay for the last few months of alpine sunsets, baguettes, and binge climbing. I’ve officially committed myself to lockdown. Writing lockdown.

The location? My parents’ house in Louisville, Kentucky. No mountains or snowy peaks in sight. The reason? I’m a hundredaire, meaning that I’ve got less than a thousand dollars in my checking account, and I don’t have any stable (or expendable) income at the moment. I quit the contract job that has supported my writing for the past four years because, well, I just want to write—finally—and see if I can make a living at it.

The worst-case scenario is that I’ll end up living with my parents for the rest of my life, giving plasma and working at a fast-food restaurant (no, that’s not what I’m doing here…yet). Best-case is that I’ll waltz outta here in a few weeks and return to Colorado with loads of new (paid) writing work to do and knee-high stacks of completed material. Realistically, I’ll be on my way to Boulder by October 1, and I’ll have done some decent work.

Van LoveThe last time I committed myself to writing lockdown, I was a guest for six weeks at a posh little writing community on Whidbey Island, Washington. I faithfully wrote 1,500 words a day and went for bike rides before dinner. But I left there feeling like I’d just been through boot camp. Here in Louisville, I’m trying to maintain some sense of balance, you know, between writing serious stuff and eating home-baked brownies. I’m daydreaming of The Van and imagining what it’s going to feel like when I get back out on the road…


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