For four years, I wrote between 2,000 and 5,000 words a week for PleinAir Today–usually closer to 5,000. Ten stories, 51 weeks a year, no vacations, no breaks, lots of reportage. I didn’t have time for anything else, but it fit our household rhythm, for the most part. And we certainly found the money useful.
I quit in March, and life has been much better, if a little scary without that income.
Now I can announce that I’m writing a book on the history of visual art in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. It will book me up for a year, and then I hope to slide right into another book project.
The change is gratifying to me, but rather than feeling jubilant, I merely feel free to accomplish what I’ve known I could do. A full book is something I’ve never done (let’s ignore the horrific sci-fi novel I wrote in 2002), but I feel pretty good about my abilities.
Certainly the prospect of visiting the Dubois area of Wyoming a few more times in the next months buoys my spirit. My wife is thrilled for me, and well, I guess this is just a happy post. Ω