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Day Sixty-Two, Sixty-Three, and Sixty-Four: The Last Leg

7/30/2015

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I have an excuse!

I was all ready to write entries the last three days, but I've been without internet. So here, you get them all in one blog. 

DAY SIXTY-TWO:
I took a tour of Loch Lomond, the Highlands, and Stirling Castle. I listened to music as we sailed through the Scottish hinterlands, and it was gorgeous. Here, of course, are some pictures.
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I was struck by the actual story behind You Take the High Road, and we listened to it on the bus on the way to Loch Lomond. It was beautiful, the whole day, and I'm so glad I did the trip. 

I came home, grumbled about not being able to do the vault tour because of my leg, and then went to the pub to write instead. Most of it came out scribbles, but here's a picture of the writing space.

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DAY SIXTY-THREE:
It's weird when you travel for so long, it starts to not be a vacation. Vacations are short amount of times when the world is as we would like it to be. We get to go where we want, we get to see what we want, we don't have to worry about money (if we've planned right), and we get to pass all those working slops on the street as we go through life like touring kings. 

A month-long vacation for the sake of seeing new lands turns then into a job of its own. A lovely job, and one I am currently missing, but a job nonetheless. I guess what' I'm saying is, if you do something new for a lengthy period of time, it becomes routine. 

The trip had started to become routine. Wake up in the morning, get free food where you could, start in on the sight-seeing, rest for lunch and a quick nap if you could, make sure your leg is feeling okay to do the next half of the day, keep sight-seeing, find something to eat, don't let yourself go home until it was unsafe so you don't miss out on anything, go home, talk to Alex, sleep, get up, pack your things, leave a tip, eat free food, squeeze in one more thing, get to the airport/train station, travel, get to the next hotel, check in, take a thirty-minute nap, do something low-key but still out in the world, come home, shower, sleep, wake up in the morning, get free food where you could ...

To step out of the rail station and see a completely new world was an experience I will never ever forget, and one I enjoy. But it was time to come home. 

I stopped at Edinburgh castle to sit in its highest tower where one man awaited execution, and I looked down at the beautiful city he'd never touch again. I scribbled about it. I've become an excellent scribbler as of late. 

Then I walked around St. Giles, which was so beautiful I didn't take any pictures. And the less poetic sentiment, it was two pounds for a photo permit and I was on my last leg of the trip. 

Then I walked through the park, and got on the train. 

I love that train. It goes 100 miles an hour past the Scottish coast. It literally feels like you're flying. 

The four-hour ride was spent writing the turning point of my novel. It was a good session. I got off at King's Cross and touched the wall that Rowling was envisioning when she wrote Platform 9 3/4ths, and I had 18 solid pages of writing done from the last four hours.

I walked around London, my leg giving out, me going further than I should. I texted Alex: We have to move here. 

I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. When I lived here in my hometown as a child, I felt as if I was cooped up in a cage and would show my worth when I got to the big city. When I got to the big city, I felt as if everyone and everything was cold and much too cynical for my conviction. I slumped into sadness in both places, but I'll be damned if there is nowhere on this earth I belong. England has been the thing that feels most like home. So it is to England we shall go. Not today, not next year, maybe not in five years. But I've seen people do crazier things. We will make it to England. 

I then took a train and a bus to my hotel room. Which was small and a closet and obviously meant for a few hours' rest before flights. I fell asleep, feeling like I was in a crypt.


DAY SIXTY-FOUR:
I went home. 

I got up at 4 in the morning, took a cab, got through security, and then I was on a plane for eleven hours. 

Eleven hours, because one for boarding, two because the engine literally blew right before we took off and we had to fix it ... or, they had to fix it, I didn't, and then the rest for flight and waiting on the runway in Chicago, because our plane lost power right after we landed. 

So yes, that happened.

I sped through security, got through customs, and ran onto my flight home right as the gate was closing. 

I think they were trying to give my seat up to a standby. Not bloody likely. 

On the plane ride home, all I wanted to do was get to my apartment and see my husband. It had been a great trip, but I have never wanted to simply sit on a couch in the middle of my Shire for so long, and I knew that feeling would quickly rub away, so I enjoyed it as long as I had it. 

I also read the entirety of Go Set a Watchman.

Seeing as in real life, I am Scout (minus her awkward and disturbing views of the black community), I really enjoyed the book for what it was: a first draft. I think that's what I took away from the book. You can still turn out a great writer when you have a crappy draft. 

I landed. My parents picked me up. They immediately started updating me on what has happened the last month, from family gossip to national news. I suddenly felt very overwhelmed, and I thought back to Bilbo coming back to his Shire. 

Nothing ever looks the same when you've seen the larger picture. 

"You change change the world and expect it to remain the same."

I collapsed in my parents' living room, waiting for Alex to collect me. He did, eventually, and we jetlag-ate a pizza before going to bed. 

I don't have coherent words for the trip yet, but I do know that I'm a stronger writer because of it. It allowed me to gain confidence, meet amazing people, and understand the scope of the universe (although it is so much bigger than what I saw). It's been humbling, gratifying, imaginative, and amazing. 

Now onto the writing session for today.

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Day Sixty and Sixty-One: A new story idea and a Rowling pilgrimage.

7/27/2015

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Above left: not the place where she wrote. The place I was sitting before I snuck over to the place where she wrote. Below left: Stonehenge. Not Rowling related. Above right: View from the coffee shop. Looks familiar ...
The last two days have been two of the most beautiful days of my life. 

I thought I was going to have enough to write about with what happened yesterday, but then bam, today came. 

Yesterday, I went on a tour of Western UK, and I saw Stonehenge, Windsor, and Bath. Bath is significant for me, because it is where I was supposed to go to school for my creative writing MFA. There in Bath is some kind of weird alter-world where I decided to screw my cancer scare, screw the debt I would have been in, and gone for the degree in England. I really wanted Bath to be ugly. Unfortunately, it looked like this:

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So there was that.

I was sad. I hurried through the Roman Baths so I could walk around the town and think about how my life would have been different. 

I thought about the people I've met since September of 2013. I thought about all the plays I did, all the stories I'd written, all the people who had died, all the funerals I'd been to, and of course the Disney trips with Alex. I thought about Alex. I thought about my friends, my family. I thought about how I'd grown, how much I loved Stonecoast. 

And somewhere in the middle of all this, I realized that when I would have returned to the states with a PhD next spring, both of my grandmothers would have died, my friend would have died. And then as I sat in the square, texting my friend about how sad I was that I hadn't lived here, I said, "What do you think would have happened if I'd gone?"

"Well," they said. "I probably wouldn't be here anymore."

Turns out, not to my knowledge, that because I was in the states, this friend hadn't been alone. This friend had someone when they needed someone. And this friend would be dead. Like really really dead. They were certain of this. And it shook me up the rest of the day. 

If I had lived here, this person would be dead. 

And somewhere around driving along some old village with a bell tower outside of Stonehenge, I started writing furiously. I didn't write on either of my projects. It was a completely new idea. It culminated all these pictures I'd been taking, the conversation through text I'd just had, my new love for this country, and the connection to the past that we get through travel. 

As of this afternoon, I have twenty raw pages of the new project, with my friend's gracious blessing. 

That leads us into today. I wrote most of those pages on the train from London to Edinburgh. It was not as magical as I'd hoped, since we had to pass the exact spot where Rowling has said Platform 9 3/4ths is (hint: it's not between 9 and 10, and it's also not the commercial gift shop faux platform spot). And Rowling came up with the idea for Harry on a train heading to Edinburgh. So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I sometimes looked out the window, but I was cramped and tired and after four hours, we arrived in Edinburgh.

I am staying at the childhood home of Kenneth Grahame. This is the sign in the corridor to explain that this is a nationally historic house and no, the bed and breakfast cannot put an elevator in:


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I mean, what the effing hell is that? Of course she wrote a bestselling fantasy series. She was looking at Hogwarts while she did it. If you can't tell from this pic, that castle is Edinburgh castle. It looks like this from the front:


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Oh yeah, and that's the view from my front porch right now. 

So I was there for two hours. I had a pop and a pizza. I wrote furiously in my notebook. And in the tradition of J.K. Rowling, I went ahead and wrote the last chapter of my series. 

It was marvelous. 

I am so honored to have been able to go to Edinburgh and sit in her seat. I am so honored to be able to learn from her, to be able to be my own self here, to walk around the streets and take it all in. I didn't know a city could be so beautiful. 

On the way home, I stopped for the ferris wheel. I had six pounds left over, and that's how much it was for a student to ride. The ferris wheel pivots like a tea cup ride, so I was able to steer my view. I saw the ocean. I saw the Mound. I saw the castle. I saw the cliffs. And I nearly cried. 

This trip is so special. My writing spaces have been in the old walking paths of the storytelling gods and goddesses. On the train car as we pulled in, I swore I was flying. 

So now the next step is taking this excitement and imagination with me as I return home in a few days. Sitting in the coffee shop reminded me that once Rowling was my age. She was penniless, she was alone in this city, and she wrote every single day, looking out to that castle, and she changed the world. 

I am serious about fighting for my life. It has not been mine for so long. But no more. This world has opened up to me, and the door is never shutting again.

I want to end with a note to Rowling, although I know she will probably not stumble on it. 

Ms. Rowling,

You don't know me, but you changed my life. I was scared of death, and then you taught me how to not be afraid. I didn't think I was good enough, but then you gave us Hermione. You taught me what real love was through Harry and his family and friends. There are no words to tell you how much your writing has meant to me. There is nothing coherent that I can say to tell you how you've saved my life and enriched it for the better. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. 


So I have been completely surrounded by the greats since landing in Ireland and being picked up from the airport by Annie Freaking Deppe. I saw Charles Dickens' resting place, J.M. Barrie's neighborhood, Alfred Hitchcock's home, King's Cross, the Blaskets Islands, etc. etc. etc. ... and now in the last few hours I've run into Wind in the Willows, the real life Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Harry Potter. 

I woke up from a nap, and I decided to walk to the coffee shop where Rowling wrote her book.

Rowling is my idol. If I ever meet her, I will probably just go into cardiac arrest and die right in front of her, and it will be really awkward. She influenced my life, and her books are my bible in writing. 

For those of you who may not know, I wrote a popular Harry Potter fanfiction that took off about ten years ago. I know some of you know me from this, so you can imagine how goddamned elated I was to snag her old table and write there for two hours. 

Above, you'll see her literal view as she wrote Philosopher's Stone. Just in case you missed it, I'll post it here again. You need to see this. 

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Day Fifty-Eight and Fifty-Nine: Circuses in Alleyways, Secret Gardens, and Knights in Shining Armor

7/25/2015

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Sometimes things just work out. 

This is a part of what I wrote today, for AAE:


"Although I won't be here forever, I am here now. This is my one inch of the world, even if it's only mine long enough to write this page. You have given this to me, and it's enough."


Last night was Alex's last night before going back to the states. Instead of hanging out in our airport hotel, we took the expensive and long trek into London and saw Everyman at the National. It was worth it. 

Afterwards, we stumbled out onto the balcony, then down to the riverfront, where we saw plastic rainbow walkways, double decker busses full of ice cream, and one alleyway with a long line leading into a warped circus behind a brick wall. 

We fell in love with the river. We fell in love with the city. It was so good to be back in London after Paris. 

This morning, Alex left, and I wanted to go with him. But I know myself, just as he knows me, and I bawled my way through packing, through saying goodbye, through doing my homework, through checking out, and then I hit the train. 

"Today," I said to myself," I am a Londoner. I have a whole day to do whatever the hell I want. I have an overloaded Oyster card. Let's do this."

It helped that Alex had told me to go have fun. He didn't want me to go home. He wanted me to do all the things he knew I'd have fun doing. 

"You have to ride the Rowling train," he said, "have some of her dust rub off on you. Make sure you write on the way to Scotland!"

And I realized just how special he is. 

I mean, of course I already knew how special he was. But how many people have husbands who say such things to them? I am lucky. I know I am lucky. 

So the day was spent walking around. I hung out with an old dear friend in Russell Park. I went to Westminster Abbey on a whim, and got shuffled into a real service in the heart of the cathedral, choirs and standing and kneeling and all. 

("What church is this?" some American tourist asked one of the officiants. "Catholic?" 
The officiant just stared at him. "Anglican, sir."
"Why's that?")

There was a moment in Westminster, where I was thinking about all of the coronations, all of the weddings ... how scared Diana must have been, how excited and prepped Kate felt ... how King George once shouted out for everyone to hear ... that the choir started singing, and I had this straight-on view of the stained glass, and I felt at home. I was a quarter of a world away from my real apartment, my real life, my husband, my family ... but there was someone there for me, something peaceful in the service. 

I'm not one for churches, but cathedrals, man. 

I went outside, and there was a woman who grabbed me and said, "Are you from here?"

Before I could answer, she decided I was in fact from here, and she said, "Where's the Palace? Buckingham?"

I actually did point her in the right direction.

This happened another time. And then another. 

I got groceries, came home to my temporary apartment, and found that there was a secret garden outside my window. I took pictures. I wrote. I was just happy, and I haven't been happy in a long time. 

For those of you who don't know, part of the reason why the year of writing challenge is a thing, is because for the last five years, I've gone through rough waters. I honestly didn't think I was going to get anymore days like this. And at one point, somewhere in the middle of the Louvre, I said to Alex in tears, "Now that I'm here in Paris, it sucks. Maybe nothing lives up to what it is in your head."

But then Alex said it was okay to be disappointed. Alex said we would find something pretty in the city. Alex said it was going to be okay. 

And then we came back to London. 

So today was a good day. I wrote a lot of ideas down, a stupid little poem, and I'm sure today will come out in writing at some point in the future. 

There still are secret gardens behind buildings, circuses in alleyways, true love and kindness in men. There still is magic. 

I board the Hogwarts Express in two days and take the same trek Rowling did when she came up with the idea for her book.
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Day Fifty-Seven: Midnight in Paris

7/24/2015

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This is our last night in Paris. 

It's been a weird four days. We started off, terrified of everything, thinking someone would murder us if we didn't speak French, and then we slipped into understanding the flow of the streets, appreciating the once-scary neighborhood we'd taken up a hotel in, and suddenly I find myself a little sad we're leaving tomorrow.

I will not miss the queues at some of the biggest over-hyped monuments this side of the meridian. I will definitely not miss the obnoxious masses of people at those sites. I won't miss the "One Euro! One Euro!" peddlers, because there are only so many ways you can tell someone you don't want a cartoon drawing of yourself nor do you want five plastic Eiffel Towers for the price of one. 

I will miss the cute cinema we went to tonight. I will miss this small hotel room that we first hated (four days?!) and now have grown to call a temporary home. We opened up the windows and suddenly, our small closet turns into a hammock in the canopy of some of the coolest architecture I've seen. 

I now know what it feels like to be an outsider. But I also know that the two of us can step off a train, be terrified out of our wits, and in less than a week, conduct ourselves through a three-course meal at a fancy restaurant. We did it. 

Now about the writing portion: I got about two paragraphs written during my time here in Paris. We were running around all over the damn place, but seeing Hugo's Notre Dame and James Joyce's Shakespeare and Company, I feel as if my writing education continued nonetheless. Walking around the streets where F. Scott and Zelda strolled, seeing how much there was for Hugo to save in an old condemned church ... it makes things mean a little more, make a little more sense. 

I think this is where Paris's heart really lies. I don't think it's in the Eiffel Tower. I don't think it's in Versailles queues or weird river boat cruises. I think it's in the quiet spots on a sidewalk after the sun goes down. It's in the way two young idiots have to clasp each other's hands and say to the other, "We're in this together." That's what Paris will be for me. 

Now back to London.
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Day Fifty-Five and Fifty-Six: Disneyland Paris and a Writing Break

7/22/2015

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Today I have a writing break. Finally. 

Yesterday was Disneyland Paris, which was ... okay. I'm not going back. But it was a good experience to have. 

Today, we are sunburned, now both have colds, and are trying to just take it easy. At some point, we're going to see the Louvre and then see Notre Dame at night. That's all we have on the docket for today. 

But this is my window this morning, and I feel like I should write something for the sake of writing something with this as my view. 

So while I write, Alex is going to the pharmacie to get some aloe and also track us down some food. I'll probably write in that new character perspective we talked about during workshop. And I'll try to stop coughing.
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Days Fifty-One Through Fifty-Four: Researching While Honeymooning

7/20/2015

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It has been a long four days, I'll have you know.

We covered a lot of ground since Friday. We saw most of the sites in London, and we stayed at a gorgeous hotel, the Russell. It was our honeymoon, along with being a research trip for my writing, and what a weird two things to combine.

Our last night at the Russell was spent taking random photos of the elevator so I could get it right, and our first day was spent driving on a bus in Kent, hunting down the location of Pithom.

How odd to be finally here.

But it's weird because I keep saying it doesn't feel like a honeymoon. We keep doing all this research and pushing ourselves to sight-see with bad knees, and I always imagined a honeymoon would be slower and more relaxing ... like someone else would be doing all the work for me. 

Then today we got on a train and headed out to Paris. We are definitely feeling the culture shock right now, and so I'm glad we have Disneyland Paris tomorrow and hopefully that'll help us acclimate? Who knows. 

We're having a good time, though. We found a beautiful place out across the waters from Big Ben and had cheeseburgers and watched the sun set two nights in a row. We got to go visit the place where my parents lived, and now we're in the Parisian hotel where they stayed. 

I have been writing a couple of sentences a day, and none today other than this. It's been a pain, and I feel bad I'm not writing as much as I thought I would. I' sure it will work out, and I'm not that mad at myself, because I'm in Europe. 

Sorry if this is a little helter-skelter ... trying to not nod off. 
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Day Fifty: Landing in London

7/16/2015

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Fifty days ago, I quit my job and started this endeavor. 

Today, I landed in London. 

This has been a goal of mine since I was a little kid. My parents spent a year here, and today we went to Seven Bedford Place, where they lived. We had a tour of the place. We took a picture where they'd taken one. We walked around London, got asked for directions twice, and hid behind fake accents to get better service. 

"I never thought I'd make it here," Alex said as we walked through the park across from our hotel. 

I always hoped I would, but I didn't know if I would.

I wrote a fictional account of this day in a performance art class I took in college. They asked us to imagine an important day in the future, and so I wrote a monologue about finally landing at Heathrow.

Today was a huge day in my life. It's going to be one I remember for a long time. 

Our hotel room is insane. We got complimentary all-the-things because this is also our honeymoon. And since we also came to this particular hotel to do research on my book, we did a look-around of the hotel. I had it backwards. I'm glad I'm seeing it for myself. The park across the street was way smaller than I thought it'd be. I'm going to learn so much. 

Tomorrow is our tour out to see where Pithom is. How crazy is that?
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Our hotel
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Day Forty-Nine: Reading and Bunratty

7/15/2015

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So the residency is over.

Last night was an amazing experience. We all went out to dinner together, and then we went to the Dingle Bookshop, where I had my first international reading. I met some new lovely and kind people, and I read poetry for the first time in public. Spent the rest of the evening eating ice cream and hanging out with a new friend made in Dingle. Hopefully she gets into the program and we hang out even more!

It was sad to leave this morning. Annie and Ted drove us the three and a half hours to Shannon, where a couple of us girls rode along with Nancy in her amazing rental car to Bunratty.

I've waited my whole life to go to Bunratty, and I didn't go up to the higher portions because of my leg. I'm holding onto my leg for the bell tower at Notre Dame. If it wasn't for my obsession with Victor Hugo and his writing habits, I would have gone, but I forewent my fascination with fantasy and castles in order to hold out for Quasimodo.

I then got dropped off at my hotel, where I hang out waiting for Alex to come in on his flight so we can do this Honeymoon thing. Went to a McDonald's. There were automatic doors, and the waitress ... yes, waitress ... was confused why I collected my tray at the counter instead of allowing her to serve me. 

Ireland.

I'm moving here, I swear to God. 

But tomorrow we'll get on a flight and head to Heathrow, where I'll be doing research for my book while of course enjoying the sights with my beloved. We're staying in the hotel that is in the book, so that's really cool. 

In the meantime, I rest my legs, watch weird RT tv, and get some work done. 
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Day Forty-Eight: The Reading and Workshop In One Day

7/14/2015

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Today is a reading and a workshop. Just had a workshop of AAE and that was so funky, because I've let it sit for so long. So it's cool to go back and see that it holds up, but still needs work in ways I wouldn't have been ready to do when I was working on it before. 

This is the room where it was workshopped. And I'm so glad I'm going to be in England and hear the voices and see the countryside so I can flesh out this story. The English parts of it have always been the hardest part, and that came out in workshop. 

Tonight is the reading. I'll be reading from Captain and the Clockmaker, so please come listen! It's at the Dingle Bookshop at 7:30. So if you happen to be in Ireland ...

I've learned so much at this residency. Ted and Annie are brilliant, and I feel like this is a real moment in my life. I've learned so much from them, from traveling to living abroad to focusing on the quiet, beautiful moments in sentences. This residency is exactly what I needed. 

Tomorrow the residency ends, and I'll be going back up to Shannon. Then Alex is in on Thursday, and we head to London.

The next great adventure begins.
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Day Forty- Seven: Good Company

7/13/2015

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Turns out my text did not save from yesterday or today. And I am very angry about this. The one I wrote yesterday was meaningful, and the one I wrote today was even more meaningful (and funny for once) and screw this Irish internet. 

I'll try to figure out what's going on, but I'm counting it as a blog because dammit, I wrote a blog!
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