I knew that it was going to be a good ideas day. It began in bed, with me having this realization about Pete being a good writer, and how he got that way. I attributed it in part to his having been a student of Art Young, when he was at Clemson.

Art figured out how to activate the right brains of left brained students and teachers. He had (for example) engineers writing poetry. Pete, when he was a student of his, wrote a found poem about spaghetti and did a collage that I still have. It’s framed and in my cabin.

I’m not sure that Art activated the right side of Pete’s brain directly – but Pete finished his graduate studies feeling more confident about his abilities as a writer. Previous to this, he’d have me do the writing.

Other teachers of Pete’s honed in on his ability to use the left side of his brain, which didn’t hurt matters either.

What brought this to mind was that two days ago he wrote a letter of request, for funding for the Bright Lights Book Project, which he submitted to an individual at the Mat-Valley Credit Union. Then last night he wrote a letter to the Wasilla Rotary, also asking for funding for the book project.

I told Pete that I was very impressed with both letters. And I was.

If Pete had at some point decided that his forte was creative writing, I would by now have left him because it’s impossible for two objects to occupy the same physical space, and the same holds true for writers working in the same genre – at least in most instances.

I have no interest in being a technical writer, either. I appreciate what others do, but I’ve never had the desire to follow in their footsteps.

I continued with my day – the next revelation was that I am becoming a well-rounded literary person. Writing alone didn’t cut it. The book project opened doors that otherwise would have remained closed. I’m not only conversing about books with a wide range of people, but I’m also doing (a few) readings and now working on a book about an overabundance of books.

This morning I got a request for a copy of Paul Coello’s The Alchemist. Yesterday, as I was sorting books, I held it in my hand and remembered that my mother recommended it to me. I read it; I didn’t get what I was supposed to get. But I did know where that book was, and I got it into a place that will be accessible to its future new owner.

I do need though, to strike a balance between my writing and my home life. It can’t be one or the other; it has to be both. I’m hoping that when daylight returns and the trails are clear of snow, that I’ll be able to resume riding.

I had a few other ideas. but because I didn’t act upon them, they evaporated, just like steam.

Next: 11. J1/11/23: When Truth is Stranger than Fiction