The Writer's Journey

 One of our early writing instructors always talked about "The Writer's Journey," framing it as some kind of mystical process, wherein you would travel to a place where a great novel would spring unimpeded from your brain and onto the page.

I find myself wondering if you could use Google Maps to track your writer's journey. You know, enter your current location in one space and "best-selling novel" in the other and see what kind of route it would plot. (Take a left at metaphor street and then an immediate right at "collect rejection letters.)

Carolyn and I set out on another more reality-based writer's journey to a book fair in Florence, Oregon to meet other authors and flog our books. After leaving Nikki (our hyper-active and entitled little rescue dog) with her Uncle Viper (our Godson) we drove south, boxes of books in the back of Big Red and anticipation tingling in our . . . Oh, alright not tingling. But we weren't by any means dreading the experience. 

We found the Florence Book Fair to be attractively laid out, well organized and peopled by smiling, helpful volunteers. Our assigned table, the by now infamous number 23 was in one corner, directly across from a gesticulating poets table and just a stone's throw from where the Jehovah's Witnesses were saving souls by osmosis. Here's a shot of our area. 

Here, alongside a loveable nut job promoting his unfinished opus and a former Lane County Commissioner turned mystery writer, we spent 6 hours smiling, laughing and running our spiel past a parade of strangers that they really need a book about a former pro-wrestling villain/private detective traipsing around the woods looking for a missing Bigfoot Hunter. (Hey, it could happen!)

Or, failing that we'd work at convincing them their next read should be a funny mystery about a woman whose three friends, tragically killed in an auto accident, have come back as ghosts to help her rid their Senior Living center of its tyrannical director. 

We met lots of nice folks, sold some books and after picking up our detritus, set out to enjoy the real reason for our 200 mile trek; A chance to enjoy the charm of Florence, eat some deep-fried clams strips and lollygag our way up the spectacular Oregon Coast. 

Our Writer's Journey complete, we rolled up highway 101. Bonus. We found gasoline for only $4.57 a gallon. (insert sarcasm emoji here). We went by and picked up Nikki, who, under the Viper's tutelage had discarded any level of discipline we had instilled in her (admittedly not much) and returned home to begin  our next prose odyssey.