Everyone knows Virgina Woolf's idea of what a writer needs - basically, money and a private space. Well, I don't have much money - but I am now the proud inhabitant of a gazebo, now known as the Writing Pod.
It's the perfect space for me, and I started Book Two (title TBA) a few days ago. Three chapters in and I'm feeling the thrill again, so that reassures me. I was nervous going into this one, afraid that this was going to be another of my famous one-offs (I'm notorious for doing a thing extraordinarily well once and then flopping on the sophomore attempt) but I think because it's a continuation of the story and characters, it's not like starting an entirely different project. I'll worry about that sometime in the distant future when Captain Millicent has run her course.
Yesterday my dad and I cleaned out the fish pond in the garden - it was so thick with algae and muck that you couldn't really see the fish. That's no way to live. So we drained it, scrubbed it, powerwashed and refilled. Maybe some people think fish don't have feelings, but it's obvious to me that happy fish now live here:
Speaking of spring in southern Ontario, the apple trees have blossomed and the smell in the air is intoxicating. I stopped on the way home from town to take a picture at my favourite orchard:
Every day I'm grateful for my decision to return home from Whitehorse. I'm sure it's beautiful up there right now too, but I love my life here.
It's good to know where one belongs.