Long Trip

At left, a picture by Liliane Painguad of the yacht Creole now owned by Gucci heirs. It is the largest wooden yacht in the world. It is beautiful.

It is also a murder boat. Well, two wives overdose on the boat and you have to wonder. Not a Gucci wife, though. Mr. Gucci bought it from the gentleman whose wives died aboard.

Of course, Mr. Maurizio Gucci himself was murdered by his own wife. Hit man actually, hired by the Mrs.

A great piece of teak though, don't you think?

I'm starting a long piece of fiction this week. It's like packing for a trip. I need a good premise. I need some plot twists. I need handholds in the form of an outline. I need some idea of destination preferably in the form of the closing paragraphs or two. I need characters I want to live with for a while.

A novel is a boat at sea. When you are writing it, you cannot go anywhere else. You're on board or you get off and drown. You live with the characters and the plot and the premise in very close proximity. They're constant as the sun and stars.

If you've spent any time on a small boat at sea, you know the relentless pressure of being confined with a few people on a common mission: survive. If you haven't been to sea but have written a novel, then you know what it is to go to sea.

This for me is a "survival" draft. I'm excited here on the dock. I'm apprehensive. I'm willing to go on the adventure. It could kill me.

When going on a journey, pack well, attended to business before you go, and select a good means of conveyance. The Creole above would do nicely. Not being a Gucci heir, I'll have to content myself with a couple decent notebooks.

You look like you could use an adventure this spring as well. Pack a bag. Take a trip. See what you find on the other side of the hills.

The tide is going out. I've got to write.