I’m sitting here in my parents’ home, the day before Rob and I make the final drive of our six month jaunt. We’ll spend the next six months in the Wilds of Northern Idaho, a place which should provide a good climate for reclusive novel-writing. At least I intend to make it be so.

I’ve never been one for journaling, but here it is: my semi-private journal wherein I’ll parse my feelings and motivations, bitch about and celebrate my writing accomplishments, and probably forget to update too terribly often.

But I’ll never post pictures of my cat.