…Cannot Get Out…

This has not been a good morning. Actually, this morning has pretty much sucked donkey balls.

Okay…look…I’m bitter and cynical, so if I add honest to that list, my bad morning means I’m pretty damned sure my entire day is already shot to hell, and I’m not even done with my coffee yet.


And my friends wonder why I titled my current story The Silence That Never Comes

E627885B-BCD9-494E-90FC-D3EFF940E24AAside from the metaphor involved, there is also the reality of mornings like this one. Mornings of distraction and annoyance and — worst of all — people…

The reality of people and activity and noise around the house.

I have to get out.

I try to head down the mountain, then, to a quiet little coffee shop. But, no…there’s construction and delays and noise on the road. More noise and chaos than home.

I have to get out.

I turn, I change…I try one of the lakes instead. A bit of hoped-for peace and quiet around the still waters to do some writing. But no, not today…of course not. Loud music and many, many people crowding the shores and the waters. Noise and chaos everywhere.

I have to get out.

09AE17E4-8CE3-4A69-87C9-D1A3F07CBB17Holy shit, I’m like the fucking Moria dwarves in Fellowship of the Ring: “…cannot get out…they are coming…”

Just how the hell can I explain this need for silence to people who actually enjoy noise and activity and bustle? People like, you know, all of my family, and most of my friends? People for whom the presence and noise of others is not just enjoyed, but preferred?

The constant presence of people — and all the noise and activity and bullshit that goes with that presence — is goddamned kryptonite to me. It builds and builds until it finally drives me nuts to the point where I can’t think, can’t function…and I sure as hell can’t write. Look, I spend most of my week around people, spend most of it being nice and friendly and “chatty”…

And I’m lying and scamming worse than my protagonist ever does. It’s all a lie, that false persona. Although it happens to be a lie I’m good at, that is not who I am.

I finally did get out, by the way…but it took over an hour of off-trail hiking to do so. At this very moment, I’m sitting on a goddamned rock, with my iPad perched precariously on another one, a couple of miles from the nearest trail (let alone the nearest day-use or camp site). I wish it was farther, to be honest, but I actually want to write, not hike all day.

Thankfully, all I now have around me are birds and squirrels and bears.


Dammit, if I survived six months — and several close calls — dodging grizzlies in Yellowstone, only to get eaten by a lousy black bear here in Colorado, I’m gonna be well-and-truly pissed.

Hmmm…I wonder if a ghost can actually haunt a bear? If so, I’m coming for the bastard who finally does get me…

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