My muse, my delightful and demanding guiding spirit, is greedy--thank goodness, as I'll take any excuse for a road trip.
At the end of August 2010, hubby and I started a journey from the Midwest to Montana. Loved wide-open North Dakota, were amazed by Montana, stumbled into Idaho, headed back by way of Wyoming and raced for home through South Dakota and Minnesota. Presto, fourteen days, 4557 miles, several hundred photos, and only minor spatting.
I like to believe travel adds texture to my fiction:
Driving along the highway at night and having cattle noses appear our of the darkness so quickly and so close to the passenger window, the grown man beside me yelps and I laugh because--well--I can't help myself.
Reading the tales of terror and triumph on the roadside dedications and suddenly feeling the people's fear of facing the unknown or a fierce enemy, and as quickly feeling their joy at having accomplished something few, if any, of their contemporaries ever would.
Seeing casinos in almost every town, each with a nearby pawn shop. My favorite, First National Pawn.
Mountains, rivers, falls, forest extending over the hill and the next and the next, sometimes brown from beetle damage, sometimes nothing but green.
Reflecting lakes. Tiny diving birds. Fields stretching from the roads to the mountains and dotted with bales of winter fodder or buffalo. Green, gold, purple, white, and of course, the blue of the big Montana sky.
While I don't believe you need to go there to write about a place, I like to think having been there adds a sense of reality to my fiction.
Wondering where I'll go next. Hmmm.
Leave a comment (1/25) and tell me where you went on your favorite road trip and I'll enter you in a drawing for a copy my books set in Montana, "Promise to Boy" and "He Calls Her Doc" along with a set of 3 Toss On elastic bracelets.Thanks for reading.