December, January, and the Inbetween

At Willa's house, in November and December, I struggled to write. I banged out stilted sentences as reluctantly as if I were writing college essays on subjects I didn't care about. I seized upon a thousand distractions, brawled with my own fears of failure and success, and ultimately faced down the question: Do I want to write this book, or not?

Sometimes I went for walks on the gravel roads in Willa's neighborhood, and sometimes I found interesting things along the way: inquisitive goats, slow-moving newts, friendly abandoned vehicles.

Construction vehicle, lost in the woods