As my fiance and I drive across the continent, I can't help but feel that we're traveling back in time. We've lived with my parents and her parents briefly along our way, gone back to towns and neighbourhoods that we have long been away from, and are seeing old friends. The weather adds to this sense of reminiscence after we escaped the terrifying mountain passes. Driving along the flat prairie roads in the middle of the night with snow banks on the sides, it is difficult for the mind not to wander to thoughts of other times there have been drives like these.
Our belongings, proverbially, on our back we've traveled a long way already, but we are, at the time of writing, only slightly over halfway there. In its own way it is terrifying: here with our parents and familiar haunts we could stop our journey. Unknown is the future ahead of us. Are we doing our best impression of Icarus?
Still we now have a respite. I'm using the time to work on my writing before we arrive in the Big Smoke and I have to get down to work on other things. Those things do actually include writing though. I guess I'm taking the moment to be more meditative about my writing, less frantic. For a moment I'm able to think about writing without the deadlines and obligations that I have, happily, yoked myself with.
In other news, I am engaging in a labour of love for my fiance. For her birthday I have set out to write a murder mystery that we will use to entertain our friends. It will be, eventually, made available here as there is no reason that it should go unused. I'm excited to see how it goes.