Thursday, June 26, 2008

Isolation holiday

Some authors dream of squirreling themselves away at a writers colony, engulfed in peace and quiet so they can finish their Amazing Epic Work. Others take the advice of magazines and try to carve out mini-retreats by unplugging phone lines and hiding in the closet with a laptop and a water bottle. That’s just not my style; it feels too much like a deadline. I prefer an isolation holiday, a summer vacation for ideas.

If anyone has ever watched Brent Butt in the Canadian comedy ‘Corner Gas,’ then you know about the true ‘staycation,’ not the one touted by the media as the answer to a downer summer economy. In one episode, Brent packs a cooler, takes a lawn chair across the road, and spends his vacation imagining he’s going to all kinds of exotic lands. He even mails real postcards, a nice touch for a tropical escape that’s all in his head.

His getaway is similar to what I do every summer: when work slacks off, as it does in June and July, I usually take a week or two and mentally get away from everyone and everything. I stock up on books, music and cool treats and just float off in my own little world. I don’t write unless I really, really want to, but I keep a notebook nearby for ideas. Of course, I still have to do the necessary things, like laundry and cooking dinner and paying bills, but I get back to my staycation as soon as possible, bobbing along in a wonderful, stress-free frame of mind. I think of it as walking zen meditation with a groovy 1970s soundtrack. And I take time to enjoy, without guilt, a skill I excelled in when I was much younger: daydreaming.

Each year, the isolation holiday pays off. Last year, I had ideas for three novels sketched out, now works-in-progress. So far this year, I’m working on a short story, after the plot grew from seedling to bouncy ripe fruit in just a couple of days. My break from reality is always my most creative time, with no deadlines, no pressure, no inner critic, just the pure enjoyment of the written word and the endless possibilities of a loosed imagination.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Up, up and away!

Usually when I take time off from writing, I just stare at the wall, or worse, the internet. But last weekend, my hubby decided to spare me from a day of wall-watching and LOLcats by taking me to an RC fly-in, an event that was actually fun. I thought remote controlled planes were usually tiny, plastic and neon-colored, mainly because of the ones I've seen in the toy aisle. But these weren't toys, not by a long shot. Each one was incredibly detailed, and many had their own tiny pilot mannequins inside. This particular fly-in was mainly WWII replica planes, a thrill for my History Channel-loving husband.

A couple from Oklahoma brought several planes to fly, including one amazing reproduction of the Spirit of St. Louis. The plane had a Charles Lindbergh pilot inside, along with incredible historic details like a bag lunch, and an itty bitty housefly that apparently annoyed Lindbergh during his record-making flight. The plane was also outfitted with a sound chip, and when the plane dipped over the crowd, we could hear a clip of Jimmy Stewart's voice from the Spirit of St. Louis movie yelling, "Which way is Ireland?"

The best thing? With this air show, a crash wouldn't take out most of the parking lot. All in all, a nice way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon. And one more cool experience to store in the writer's toolbox.