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jazzfishIt turns out that Portland, at least the Alberta St NE between about 10th and 30th part of Portland, is really cool and the kind of place I'd like to live: a ton of little shops and restaurants, people wandering around, not too many cars, a couple of parks and grocery stores, etc etc. If only it weren't in a) Portland and b) the States.
Over the course of three days I got sprinkled on, rained on, hailed on (!), and sunshined on, although not all at once.
I stayed at a hotel that used to be (part of?) an elementary school, in the English Wing. This gains points for having each room themed around a particular book (I was in Jennifer Egan's The Keep, next door to The Farthest Shore and across from The Riddle-Master Of Hed), loses them for not having either a hot-water-heater or a bathtub in the rooms, and gains a few back for the lauded Soaking Pool, which used to be an outdoor Olympic-sized swimming pool and is now an outdoor Olympic-sized warm (not very hot) tub.
So, what did I bring out of Rally?
I don't know.
I mean, I sort of do. I went in thinking I was going to work on story M, and poked at it a little bit on the first day, and then spent the entire second day working on WHAT IF I DON'T REALLY WANT TO BE A WRITER, which was terrifying and informative. (It turns out that hard things are *hard*. WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME.) I decided that the only reason to write is because it's fun, and if it becomes not-fun, or not-enough-fun-to-justify, I'm allowed to stop.
I also had a brief flash of insight about knowing that I need to change things about my life and just plain not wanting to. That was kinda harsh, and required some extended wrapping-up-in-a-hammock-with-a-sad-raccoon time.
Once I got that worked out, and figured out that I was stalled on story B because it needs to either sit and percolate or have its plot bashed out and I am not in the mood for plot-bashing, I pulled out story B. This was going to be a darkish urban fantasy, and it seems likely that the end still will be, but it's turning into a dark-comedy kind of dark. I'm okay with this.
I also (re?)discovered the value of taking care of myself, and taking conscious time for myself because otherwise I will just take unconscious time for myself and still stress about everything, and changing perspective and asking myself (and my projects) questions about what I and they want and need, and, you know. Taking care of myself.
I have no way to judge whether this was what I expected or wanted or needed (though I have my suspicions on that last one). I think it was worth doing.
And now my tea is nearly finished. I think I shall go get homemade mac and cheese from the mac and cheese food cart, and take it with me on the longer-than-necessary public transit ride to the airport. Based on the map I think I will be able to wave at the airport as the bus turns south, and then there's another half-hour ride ahead of me. And then I meet up withuilos who has, I assume, spent some amount of the afternoon making me jealous by hanging out in Powell's, and we get on a plane and fly to, eventually, the Outer Banks.
In conclusion: it is so very good to not think about work.
Over the course of three days I got sprinkled on, rained on, hailed on (!), and sunshined on, although not all at once.
I stayed at a hotel that used to be (part of?) an elementary school, in the English Wing. This gains points for having each room themed around a particular book (I was in Jennifer Egan's The Keep, next door to The Farthest Shore and across from The Riddle-Master Of Hed), loses them for not having either a hot-water-heater or a bathtub in the rooms, and gains a few back for the lauded Soaking Pool, which used to be an outdoor Olympic-sized swimming pool and is now an outdoor Olympic-sized warm (not very hot) tub.
So, what did I bring out of Rally?
I don't know.
I mean, I sort of do. I went in thinking I was going to work on story M, and poked at it a little bit on the first day, and then spent the entire second day working on WHAT IF I DON'T REALLY WANT TO BE A WRITER, which was terrifying and informative. (It turns out that hard things are *hard*. WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME.) I decided that the only reason to write is because it's fun, and if it becomes not-fun, or not-enough-fun-to-justify, I'm allowed to stop.
I also had a brief flash of insight about knowing that I need to change things about my life and just plain not wanting to. That was kinda harsh, and required some extended wrapping-up-in-a-hammock-with-a-sad-raccoon time.
Once I got that worked out, and figured out that I was stalled on story B because it needs to either sit and percolate or have its plot bashed out and I am not in the mood for plot-bashing, I pulled out story B. This was going to be a darkish urban fantasy, and it seems likely that the end still will be, but it's turning into a dark-comedy kind of dark. I'm okay with this.
I also (re?)discovered the value of taking care of myself, and taking conscious time for myself because otherwise I will just take unconscious time for myself and still stress about everything, and changing perspective and asking myself (and my projects) questions about what I and they want and need, and, you know. Taking care of myself.
I have no way to judge whether this was what I expected or wanted or needed (though I have my suspicions on that last one). I think it was worth doing.
And now my tea is nearly finished. I think I shall go get homemade mac and cheese from the mac and cheese food cart, and take it with me on the longer-than-necessary public transit ride to the airport. Based on the map I think I will be able to wave at the airport as the bus turns south, and then there's another half-hour ride ahead of me. And then I meet up with
uilos who has, I assume, spent some amount of the afternoon making me jealous by hanging out in Powell's, and we get on a plane and fly to, eventually, the Outer Banks.In conclusion: it is so very good to not think about work.