It's our last day in Oregon before we have to get up at a truly ungodly hour and fly home to Boston. The past two days were spent in Silverton at a nice resort (don't let the label fool you—there were no facials or massages being had by yours truly) which the manfriend and I used as base camp to take a couple of very nice, scenic, waterfall-riddled long hikes. The best part of the resort (no offense to the Frank Lloyd Wright house on the edge of the property) was the quails. Quails quails quails!!! I thought I'd struck it rich when we spotted those three back in California, but the resort had oodles, oodles I tell you! We were walking around the resort's vast gardens and along a brush-lined area, and KA-POW! Like thirty quails, parents and bumbly little quailets all scattering this way and that. Ah, bliss. Keep your spa treatments, everybody. I gots my quails.
The first hike we did was Opal Creek, where we enjoyed a seven-mile trek through the certified wilderness, and what used to be old mining land. There was ancient rusting equipment strewn here and there, giant mysterious gear-laden monstrosities. The terrain was largely smooth and semi-gravel-paved, with the exception of a loop that offered some more strenuous climbs. A nice mix. I love the streams here—they're freakishly clear and the coolest color, a subdued greenish blue, from algae, maybe? We did the hike without snacks and not quite enough water, plus the manfriend had puked his guts out that morning from what we suspect was food poisoning. He's such a trouper. So by about mile five we were both dragging, but we made it. And I got yet more valuable experience peeing in the woods—a skill I hadn't really cultivated before taking up with an Oregonian.
Hike number two was Silver Creek Falls. That trek was a little over four miles, nicely paved, and pretty quiet, although when peeing in the woods I had to make the manfriend stand guard. We must have seen about six waterfalls. None were gushing magnificently this time of the year, but they were still very impressive. And one of them cascades from a shelf that juts way out from the rest of the hill, and the trails goes right behind it. Very cool.
That's about it. Today we do laundry, have one last family dinner, and generally take it easy before jetting back home at about four a.m. Well, I take it easy, while the manfriend troubleshoots a gazillion technical issues for his mom. It's been a fabulous trip—just the right mix of outings and down time. I require a lot of down time. I even got a decent amount of writing and brainstorming done. Hopefully I'll have Thrusty Thursday ready to go tomorrow to keep you company while I'm shooting through the air due east. See you around.
Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Yet more random travel musings…
Greetings from a surprisingly sunny and cheerful afternoon in Portland, Oregon! My manfriend is taking a few days out of his vacation time to attend a nerd convention, and I'm using the opportunity to get as much writing done as humanly possible during the day, then meeting up with him and an assorted cast of old friends (he lived in Portland for ten years) for dinner and drinks in the evenings. Our hotel is super crazy awesome… I wish I could tell you where it is, but I'm pretty sure that's high up on the list of How To Get Stalked Top Tips and I'd get berated for being so foolish.
Speaking of nerd conventions, the first afternoon we were here (I haven't been back to Portland for a proper visit in four years) we were bumming around a sunken brick courtyard area, sort of a displaced Out of Town News type scene, if you know Cmambridge's Harvard Square at all. There were shenanigans galore going down in this square! Young people prancing around in colorful wigs and weird clothes, playing a game that combined spin the bottle and red rover and involved a LOT of hugging and spirited yelling. Naturally we got comfortable and gawked ad nauseum. I said, "Jesus, I knew it was nutty in this city, but I didn't remember it being this freaky!" We later found there was an anime convention going on down the street. Sigh of relief. I'm all for Portland flying its freak flag high, but thank goodness that wasn't typical.
An awesomely handy thing for my evil conjoined erotica writing twin (Cara McKenna) is that she's writing a follow-up to a story whose characters are all from this town, so she gets to walk around in their natural habitat while she brainstorms the nasty things they're going to get up to with each other. Everywhere we look, it's like, "Oh, that guy on the bike could be Rich!" Or "That chick would definitely be friends with Margie" or "I bet Evan would eat lunch there." Pretty cool.
I'm in the hotel lobby right now, waiting for my room to be cleaned before I head back up so Cara can pound away some more on this little Bluetooth keyboard. I'll say it again—love love loving the iPad as a mobile writing device. Perfect for me. Tomorrow I get kicked out at eleven or so when we have to check out of the hotel, so I'll be walking all around the city while I wait for the programmer mafia to release my manfriend from his convention. The only place I MUST go (upon threat of death, should I fail) is Powell's Books. I'm also in the market for a new pair of pants (excitement!) and maybe a cool piece of jewelry as a souvenir. Praying for another sunny, cool day like this one. After that it's back to cougar country for a couple more days.
Okay, room's probably clean now. Back to the writing trenches.
Speaking of nerd conventions, the first afternoon we were here (I haven't been back to Portland for a proper visit in four years) we were bumming around a sunken brick courtyard area, sort of a displaced Out of Town News type scene, if you know Cmambridge's Harvard Square at all. There were shenanigans galore going down in this square! Young people prancing around in colorful wigs and weird clothes, playing a game that combined spin the bottle and red rover and involved a LOT of hugging and spirited yelling. Naturally we got comfortable and gawked ad nauseum. I said, "Jesus, I knew it was nutty in this city, but I didn't remember it being this freaky!" We later found there was an anime convention going on down the street. Sigh of relief. I'm all for Portland flying its freak flag high, but thank goodness that wasn't typical.
An awesomely handy thing for my evil conjoined erotica writing twin (Cara McKenna) is that she's writing a follow-up to a story whose characters are all from this town, so she gets to walk around in their natural habitat while she brainstorms the nasty things they're going to get up to with each other. Everywhere we look, it's like, "Oh, that guy on the bike could be Rich!" Or "That chick would definitely be friends with Margie" or "I bet Evan would eat lunch there." Pretty cool.
I'm in the hotel lobby right now, waiting for my room to be cleaned before I head back up so Cara can pound away some more on this little Bluetooth keyboard. I'll say it again—love love loving the iPad as a mobile writing device. Perfect for me. Tomorrow I get kicked out at eleven or so when we have to check out of the hotel, so I'll be walking all around the city while I wait for the programmer mafia to release my manfriend from his convention. The only place I MUST go (upon threat of death, should I fail) is Powell's Books. I'm also in the market for a new pair of pants (excitement!) and maybe a cool piece of jewelry as a souvenir. Praying for another sunny, cool day like this one. After that it's back to cougar country for a couple more days.
Okay, room's probably clean now. Back to the writing trenches.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Mid-coffee ramblings
Forgive me, my coffee's only half-drunk and I'm not fully awake yet. No clue what I'm about to blather at you. Mmmm, coffee. Cream, no sugar. Pale and bitter like I like my men.
Did we all solve the Sunday Puzzle yet? It's hard to know if you've got the best answer with this week's challenge. The longest word I've come up with so far is DETECTED. Not bad, but I suspect the real answer's more impressive.
Today on vacation I'm heading up to Portland, Oregon for a few days. While my manfriend attends a nerd conference I'll be set loose in the city, hopefully to get a bunch of writing done. My evil conjoined erotica-writing twin is hoping to finish her WIP while we're in its characters' natural habitat. That'll mean about 4,000 words a day, normally a tall order for me, but doable given that it'll be my sole focus this week.
On a typical working day, if I'm not consumed by intensive edits or revisions, I try to write between 1,000 and 3,000 words. During a focused writing jag, it takes me about an hour to write a thousand words. That's an hour where I'm in the zone, and the temptation to check my e-mail or Twitter is nil. I love those hours. Often when I have a deadline I want to hit, the starry-eyed optimist in me thinks, "Okay, thousand words an hour, I'll just write for five hours today and hey, there's 5K!" Right. Five hours may be a short day for shift worker, but five hours of pure, speedy writing is like five hours of sprinting. Exhausting, grueling, physically impossible. But five or six hours of semi-focused writing—jags interspersed with lunch, coffee breaks, the day's expected distractions—can equal a very healthy 3,000 words by the end of the day.
I heard once that our brains get "flipped" halfway through the day—between two and four p.m.—our minds going from analytical and focused to emotional and reactionary. Sorry, can't remember the chemistry or anthropology behind that shift. But it explains why I used to lose the will to live around three every afternoon when I worked in an office. And it still happens to me now, regardless of what I've gotten done. I can only count on writing between 7:30 and 2, really. Before that, I'm asleep or running or showering, after that, my brain's Jell-O, because writing is truly an exhausting activity. So I switch tracks in the mid-afternoon and do less creative tasks, like website updates, simple edits, and dicking around on Twitter.
Hmmm… Is there anything less enthralling than hearing about somebody's writing routine? Well, maybe hearing about their diets. Can I just say I've managed to gain four pounds in the past week? Inexplicable…oh wait, no, it must be the extraordinary amounts of food I've been eating on vacation. Mystery solved!
Okay, I'm off to get a little writing done before it's time to head up to Portland for the official kick-off of my week of [fingers crossed] intensive and distraction-free writing. To my fellow Yanks, enjoy your Labor Days.
Did we all solve the Sunday Puzzle yet? It's hard to know if you've got the best answer with this week's challenge. The longest word I've come up with so far is DETECTED. Not bad, but I suspect the real answer's more impressive.
Today on vacation I'm heading up to Portland, Oregon for a few days. While my manfriend attends a nerd conference I'll be set loose in the city, hopefully to get a bunch of writing done. My evil conjoined erotica-writing twin is hoping to finish her WIP while we're in its characters' natural habitat. That'll mean about 4,000 words a day, normally a tall order for me, but doable given that it'll be my sole focus this week.
On a typical working day, if I'm not consumed by intensive edits or revisions, I try to write between 1,000 and 3,000 words. During a focused writing jag, it takes me about an hour to write a thousand words. That's an hour where I'm in the zone, and the temptation to check my e-mail or Twitter is nil. I love those hours. Often when I have a deadline I want to hit, the starry-eyed optimist in me thinks, "Okay, thousand words an hour, I'll just write for five hours today and hey, there's 5K!" Right. Five hours may be a short day for shift worker, but five hours of pure, speedy writing is like five hours of sprinting. Exhausting, grueling, physically impossible. But five or six hours of semi-focused writing—jags interspersed with lunch, coffee breaks, the day's expected distractions—can equal a very healthy 3,000 words by the end of the day.
I heard once that our brains get "flipped" halfway through the day—between two and four p.m.—our minds going from analytical and focused to emotional and reactionary. Sorry, can't remember the chemistry or anthropology behind that shift. But it explains why I used to lose the will to live around three every afternoon when I worked in an office. And it still happens to me now, regardless of what I've gotten done. I can only count on writing between 7:30 and 2, really. Before that, I'm asleep or running or showering, after that, my brain's Jell-O, because writing is truly an exhausting activity. So I switch tracks in the mid-afternoon and do less creative tasks, like website updates, simple edits, and dicking around on Twitter.
Hmmm… Is there anything less enthralling than hearing about somebody's writing routine? Well, maybe hearing about their diets. Can I just say I've managed to gain four pounds in the past week? Inexplicable…oh wait, no, it must be the extraordinary amounts of food I've been eating on vacation. Mystery solved!
Okay, I'm off to get a little writing done before it's time to head up to Portland for the official kick-off of my week of [fingers crossed] intensive and distraction-free writing. To my fellow Yanks, enjoy your Labor Days.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Roadtrip report
Just got back from a two-day road trip with the manfriend last night. We drove down to Northern California to the redwoods and hiked around the unreasonable large foliage. I got some good ideas for a novella my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin is percolating, ooh'd and ahh'd over the massive trees, and didn't twist an ankle in my Chucks, contrary to my hiking boot elitist manfriend's prediction. The Smith River is crazy pretty—a fascinating shade of clear green-blue, with very gradually sloped banks comprised of smooth rocks, way different than the granite drop-offs and coarse sand I'm used to in New England. Also saw an interesting dark blue jay which I've yet to identify in the bird guide.
After the hike we headed to Crescent City, walked down a cement jetty we probably weren't supposed to, and I got to bag a few new bird sightings…though I haven't ID'd them with my Peterson's guide yet. One was definitely an oystercatcher of some kind—can't mistake that beak. It took off with a call that sounded a lot like a rape whistle…I must have looked ill-intentioned. Also saw some little cousins of my local coast's ruddy turnstones, or maybe purple sandpipers. Bigger than the sandpipers I'm used to though, with a dark purplish back and a pale belly. Down on the sand we saw a tiny gull-like bird, like if a plover and a seagull made fruitful love.
That night we stayed in Klamath at the ReQua Inn, a super neat historical hotel overlooking the river. No TVs in the rooms, very few outlets, but an awesome staff, amazing local food and wine, and a big old cozy lounge full of board games and books.
The next morning we did a quick hike down from the outlook near the inn then hit the road for some scenic driving. Twisty, rugged roads run along the mountains with a sea breeze like nature's AC—a godsend, given it was in the 90s there. I got my vacation wish and spotted not only one quail, but three! You would have thought there was a baby in the road, the way our car skidded to a halt for a better look. We then headed back into Oregon to Ashland, my manfriend's erstwhile stomping grounds, and stayed outside the city at his old professor's house. Well, farm. They keep goats, chickens, and pigs. They built their house and it's indescribably cool, so I won't even attempt to describe it. We had pork chops, chutney, corn, tomato salad and potatoes for dinner, every last bit of it (minus the vinegar) from the premises. Hot damn, best pork chop ever. The next morning we had veggie omelets and bacon, also 100% über-local. Oh and goat milk in my non-local coffee. My manfriend was an old hand at milking the goats, but I hadn't milked anything in a couple decades. I was a bit slow. But I was an ace at gathering eggs, even from beneath one grumpy chicken who refused to move as I rummaged around under her feathery butt.
After we left the farm we drove to Mount Ashland and enjoyed an excellent six-mile hike. Mount Shasta loomed in the hazy distance, all purple and majestic. Mount Ashland's trails are very nice, well worn and not nearly as craggy as I'm used to. Got a little bit too much sun, so my dreams of ditching my farmer's tan before the next time I have occasion to wear a sleeveless dress may fail.
After that we drove four hours back north for dinner with the assorted parents-in-law and their partners. Today should be nice and lazy, and I may even manage to bang out a couple thousand words on my work-in-progress. Hope everyone has a stellar start to their weekend. See you for the Sunday Puzzle tomorrow.
After the hike we headed to Crescent City, walked down a cement jetty we probably weren't supposed to, and I got to bag a few new bird sightings…though I haven't ID'd them with my Peterson's guide yet. One was definitely an oystercatcher of some kind—can't mistake that beak. It took off with a call that sounded a lot like a rape whistle…I must have looked ill-intentioned. Also saw some little cousins of my local coast's ruddy turnstones, or maybe purple sandpipers. Bigger than the sandpipers I'm used to though, with a dark purplish back and a pale belly. Down on the sand we saw a tiny gull-like bird, like if a plover and a seagull made fruitful love.
That night we stayed in Klamath at the ReQua Inn, a super neat historical hotel overlooking the river. No TVs in the rooms, very few outlets, but an awesome staff, amazing local food and wine, and a big old cozy lounge full of board games and books.
The next morning we did a quick hike down from the outlook near the inn then hit the road for some scenic driving. Twisty, rugged roads run along the mountains with a sea breeze like nature's AC—a godsend, given it was in the 90s there. I got my vacation wish and spotted not only one quail, but three! You would have thought there was a baby in the road, the way our car skidded to a halt for a better look. We then headed back into Oregon to Ashland, my manfriend's erstwhile stomping grounds, and stayed outside the city at his old professor's house. Well, farm. They keep goats, chickens, and pigs. They built their house and it's indescribably cool, so I won't even attempt to describe it. We had pork chops, chutney, corn, tomato salad and potatoes for dinner, every last bit of it (minus the vinegar) from the premises. Hot damn, best pork chop ever. The next morning we had veggie omelets and bacon, also 100% über-local. Oh and goat milk in my non-local coffee. My manfriend was an old hand at milking the goats, but I hadn't milked anything in a couple decades. I was a bit slow. But I was an ace at gathering eggs, even from beneath one grumpy chicken who refused to move as I rummaged around under her feathery butt.
After we left the farm we drove to Mount Ashland and enjoyed an excellent six-mile hike. Mount Shasta loomed in the hazy distance, all purple and majestic. Mount Ashland's trails are very nice, well worn and not nearly as craggy as I'm used to. Got a little bit too much sun, so my dreams of ditching my farmer's tan before the next time I have occasion to wear a sleeveless dress may fail.
After that we drove four hours back north for dinner with the assorted parents-in-law and their partners. Today should be nice and lazy, and I may even manage to bang out a couple thousand words on my work-in-progress. Hope everyone has a stellar start to their weekend. See you for the Sunday Puzzle tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Greetings from Oregon
I'm on vacation in Oregon at the moment…as I said before, don't bother trying to burglarize my house—it's very difficult to get past two stories of neighbors and two deadbolts. This morning marks the start of day three, and because tomorrow we're off to see the redwoods and visit some friends-of-manfriend, today we have very little scheduled. Ahhhh.
Day one was relaxed, a short hike in Cascadia Park with my mom-in-law (PNW, I love your spongy trails and mossy trees) and a visit down the road to see my dad-in-law and stepmom-in-law, where we were plied with much authentic Mexican food (and watched my stepmom-in-law make tamales we weren't yet allowed to eat). Also got visited by a very fat baby, my…um…step-nephew-in-law? The nomenclature in these blended families is complicated.
Yesterday, day two, was a trip to the coast. Coffee, rainy roadtrip eventually turning sunny, a treacherous-but-totally-worth-it walk down a craggy jetty where this bird-nerd spotted some common murres and red-necked phalaropes. Excellent, though I'd been hoping for some guillemots as well. We had lunch at the Rogue brewhouse—very ambitiously sized burgers and some good beer. Then more driving and beach nosing-around, then dinner with the in-laws in Corvallis. Afterward we stopped at a Borders and I made it a point to check out the Harlequin end-caps in the romance section. My mom-in-law got all excited when I showed her the Blaze section where my books will be living in April. And yeah, I got excited too.
That's about it for now—I'm hoping to get some writing done after we finish watching this episode of James May's Toy Stories. And did everybody solve the Sunday Puzzle yet? Shouldn't be too tough for my fellow book nerds. Enjoy your Tuesdays!
Day one was relaxed, a short hike in Cascadia Park with my mom-in-law (PNW, I love your spongy trails and mossy trees) and a visit down the road to see my dad-in-law and stepmom-in-law, where we were plied with much authentic Mexican food (and watched my stepmom-in-law make tamales we weren't yet allowed to eat). Also got visited by a very fat baby, my…um…step-nephew-in-law? The nomenclature in these blended families is complicated.
Yesterday, day two, was a trip to the coast. Coffee, rainy roadtrip eventually turning sunny, a treacherous-but-totally-worth-it walk down a craggy jetty where this bird-nerd spotted some common murres and red-necked phalaropes. Excellent, though I'd been hoping for some guillemots as well. We had lunch at the Rogue brewhouse—very ambitiously sized burgers and some good beer. Then more driving and beach nosing-around, then dinner with the in-laws in Corvallis. Afterward we stopped at a Borders and I made it a point to check out the Harlequin end-caps in the romance section. My mom-in-law got all excited when I showed her the Blaze section where my books will be living in April. And yeah, I got excited too.
That's about it for now—I'm hoping to get some writing done after we finish watching this episode of James May's Toy Stories. And did everybody solve the Sunday Puzzle yet? Shouldn't be too tough for my fellow book nerds. Enjoy your Tuesdays!
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