“Whoa, what happened to Ontyre Passages? It looks different.”
There’s lots going on in my life and I don’t want to close down the WP site, but why operate two sites that are exactly the same except in appearance?
Light bulb moment!
(One of the new kind…not an incandescent.)
I’m inching towards devoting the WP site to my blog and, because it’s better suited to the purpose, having the website serve as my primary site for fiction (thus, it’s now Ontyre Passages). For instance, the WP site now has a permanent link in the sidebar for the website.
I haven’t worked out the gray areas yet like the upcoming poetry collection (The Renaissance Cycle) and short stories, but I’m confident it’ll all work itself out.
Like working out the cover for the poetry collection. Here’s an example…
My gosh, I can’t believe all there is to establishing myself as a full-time writer so I can publish…
I’ve discovered I should have a business bank account before publishing through Amazon, Smashwords, or Kobo (unless I want to go insane next tax season). So, off to the bank I go.
An aside: I’ve been accepted into the local chapter of RWA so I have some initial work to do there. And then there’s figuring out PayPal…
But I digress…
So, after the bank, and even though I’ve no idea how to swim (symbolically speaking—mostly), I’ll jump off the dock and into Amazon publishing at CreateSpace/KDP.
Calm your nerves, Christina…
To help survive all this I take advantage of nice weather and get outside to clear my head, get some exercise, and relax.
On my first bike ride in 2014 a few weeks ago I road east towards the city center and suffered a flat. Not to be daunted, a week later I made my second ride for 2014 and road west towards a park along the river…another flat.
A little frustrated!
Having (hopefully) overcome my tire woes I took a ride a week ago between the river and Mount Sentinel. It was beautiful beyond imagining and represented all I’d moved to Missoula for.
The river below me.
Cliffs beside me.
Towering evergreens overhead.
The sun was out. The temperature was perfect at 70℉ (21℃). The path eventually gave way to a hard-packed gravel road, which was bouncing me a lot and straining my muscles, but my smile remained.
I pressed on until reason turned me around.
I’m managing my health well, but I have to remember my lungs work harder than they did five years ago. Because of the additional strain I’m also stressing my heart.
A fact that it’s easy to forget, but scary when I remember.
I suffered residual effects over the following two days, but the ride was an inspiring experience I don’t regret. In the future, though, I’ll restrict my bike riding to the easier paved city paths.
One day I’ll return to that gravel road on foot at a leisurely pace and with more time so I can examine the exposed geology. The rock I saw appeared ancient.
I know the cliffs were, like the city, once underwater when ancient Lake Missoula filled the valley because an ice dam to the west held back the glacial runoff. It eventually gave way and an astounding water surge swept across eastern Washington State.
The waterline is still visible on the mountainsides surrounding the city.
I digress again…
More recently I drove to a park on the city’s westside where a path looped through a wooded area. It was another inspiring experience and not nearly as difficult as the bike ride, though it wasn’t easy.
Ah, the view…
The river was deep, wide, and churning at an unanticipated pace.
In the distance the mountains still wore their snow caps.
Evergreens abounded. The deciduous trees are budding here, but the leaves haven’t yet arrived. I look forward to the added greenery, especially upon the huge stand of birch across the river.
The park is one that’s (mostly) undeveloped. Fallen trees blocked the path at times, sometimes forcing me to divert around. Other times I stepped onto the horizontal trunks and cautiously viewed the other side.
Yeah, no desire to step on a creature.
I’d rather spy a snake than a spider, but I’ve no desire to be bitten by a rattlesnake.
There were geese on the river. Overhead I saw more than a few crows, hawks, and other birds I couldn’t identify. At one point I heard the telltale sound that was a woodpecker.
And then I spotted it!
It was far up in a tree so I couldn’t see it clearly, but I could see it hammering away—and probably giving itself a stiff neck.
The path later took me along a stream and river overflow amidst a glade. Too, more paths appeared that often doubled back on themselves.
Thank goodness for the GPS on my phone.
In places I had to hop over narrow watercourses. In other places I balanced on tipping logs so as to cross. In one location there were stepping stones provided.
Yeah…must be 25 years since I took such a walk.
At one location a stream was dammed. Yeah, I was pretty excited to discover a beaver dam. I took picture after picture and found what I’m pretty sure was the beaver lodge. I stood there on the soggy ground and peered into the deep pool and wondered if I’d see a cute little face looking up at me.
And then it occurred to me…
Do beavers become protective if someone ventures too near their lodge?
Is there such a thing as a royally pissed-off beaver?
I looked around half expecting to find myself surrounded by agitated beavers ready to take down the human.
Without delay I hurried toward the more open ground to the east.
And all the time I was aware of the distance back to the car.
Sure, it wasn’t far for most people, but for me and my already fatigued lungs it might as well have been miles.
My imagination ran amuck and I visualized the beavers giving chase and running me down. What a sight: a gasping, frantic middle-aged woman looking over her shoulder while enraged, determined beavers closed in.
The shame and humiliation!
Oh, sure, I could call the police on my phone and scream that I was under beaver attack. If I was lucky I’d still be above water when they finally stopped laughing.
What a headline: LOCAL WOMAN DROWNED BY RAGING BEAVERS.
A sad epitaph: “…Her promising writing career was tragically cut short when she attacked by irate beavers. Authorities insist the background sounds heard on the taped emergency call aren’t laughing operators, but instead Ms. Hawthorne’s gurgled pleas for help.”
It’s been a strange week…