Hightailing it to Montana: The Great Escape-Day One

Something a bit different this time. 

I kept a journal of sorts during my camping trip over the weekend. I will make a separate post for each day of our trip.  There are only three, so you won't be slogged down in an epic monotony of drivel-only three days worth of insanity, which is a much better deal, I think.


And without further adieu...

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Day One

After much Internet searching and a gift from a friend who said that this trip must happen (I heart you), I selected a place in Troy, Montana.

I'd taken a random road trip with one of my dearest friends, the blogger of Seeds of Ink (seedsofink.blogspot.com), ending up in Libby, Montana.  We had passed Troy and I thought it was nice, albeit small. A bit creepy too as it was dusk/near dark when we blew through town at the time.

 

THE CAMPING TRIP had been in the planning stages since early May.

 I wanted to go and explore a place we hadn't been before. The Midget was excited at the prospect of the two of us adventuring like 'princess mermaids' (don't judge) so I began the quest for a campground that didn't include the word 'BEAR' in the 'things to know' information section on its web site.

Bear Country

 

 

 

  In fact, the Midget, now 8, hadn't been camping since she was 2. This was going to be her first 'real' camping trip, so I wanted to choose something that wasn't too remote, yet wasn't 'glamping." It's a small, privately owned place right off the highway.  A great test site!

 

Kootenai River Campground

What follows is basically a daily journal I kept for blogging purposes. It's an experiment of sorts to give you another look into the different way I see the world around me and the thought processes that go along with it. 

 

 DAY ONE

Off to a late start as usual. I can't help but wonder if being born at the end of December perhaps is the culprit: dead of winter, myriad amounts of snow on the ground (for those of you who actually get snow), people moving at a slow pace careful not to slip on a hidden patch of ice.

Then again, until recently, 'careful' was not an adjective that really applied to me. My parents received their silver crowns earlier than one would expect. As I sit here and mull this over, I can only imagine the crowns of honor for bravery and service my guardian angels will have. I use the plural because I have a niggling feeling that I might have needed more than one. But I digress...

 

I had called the campground the day before and originally made reservations for three nights with an option for a fourth. Now I would like to note that when I made my reservations I'd told them I'd be bringing a power source as I have a small piece of medical equipment that requires electricity. I have one of these:

 

 

 

 

My solar rechargeable power source



 

 

They told me to leave it at home and they'd take care of me. I was down with that-less stuff for me to pack around.

 Our tentatively scheduled departure time came, went, and ran screaming into the night.  I had visions of trying to put up Bertha the Magnificent (the endearing name I gave that behemoth of a tent) by the headlights of my car. I also wanted to ensure that our spot would still be there for us.
 

Close to Montana-amazing mountains

 
 

 

I decided that the responsible thing to do was to call them and admit my epic schedule was  perfectly fail. Vera, the nice gal who answered the phone reminded me I was only  three hours away and that we'd be there with plenty of time to set up camp.
 

 

 WOOT!

 

Late afternoon as we pulled in

 

About four hours and an insane amount of road construction later, we pulled in. We went in to the office to check in.  I was impressed (and that's not an easy feat). They are some of the nicest people I've met in a long time and very patient with the Midget's immediate onslaught of questions.

 They put me in an RV spot that has water and electric and only charged me the tent rate.  I still got the free showers (for tenters) as well.

The Raising of Bertha

Our back yard

 

I parked in my spot and unpacked the car. The Midget happily started to chase butterflies in the small clearing at the edge of our spot. I had to call her back to help me set up the tent...or at least help me spread the darn thing out.


 

Almost unpacked

 

 

I noticed a really small ramshackle Motor home with its hood up in the next spot over and an old man sitting at the table. I took it in for a second, always curious to see who the neighbors will be, and went back to my task at hand. (You can just see his rig in the photo above)

I was in rare form, unfolding Bertha with military precision, or at least I thought so.  He offered to help me set up the tent if I needed it. Although I didn't look at him, the first thought that went through my brain was:

 Just because I'm a fat person, doesn't mean I'm helpless! 

This was immediately followed by a feeling of shame.  Here was someone who was simply offering his help if I needed it.  I finally looked up and saw a man probably in his late 60s with a long white beard. I would describe him as a cross between a hippie and a mountain man. I thanked him and told him I would ask if I needed it. He went inside his rig and I continued with my mission.

 

I wield a mean hammer

 

I managed to put up my tent, and with a bit of help from the Midget got the rain fly on.  I really think 'rain fly'  is an inaccurate term. In this particular case parachute is more apropos.

 

Those of you who know me have many times heard me say that my tent is big enough to park my SUV in.  Of course I was mostly going by memory, not actually having seen my tent for six years.  Turns out my memory served me well. My ginormous tent is 18' x 10'.

 

 Bertha the Magnificent

 

 

Even though we were right off the highway the noise really wasn't an issue, which surprised me. The nightly train was a bit noisier but we were still awake and all was well.

The Midget went over to visit our neighbor and she made quick friends with Bobo, his dachshund.  As we went to bed I decided I wanted to ask my neighbor over for coffee in the morning.  He seemed like an interesting person.

THE NIGHT THE ARCTIC CAME TO VISIT

So I'm unpacking the rig and Bertha is standing strong and proud in her full glory. I was confident that we were adequately set up for 55 degree temps that were predicted for that evening. For the first time in my life I did NOT pack for the apocalypse, a blizzard, or random zombie attack.

After dinner was done and the mandatory ritual of burning marshmallows over the campfire complete, we headed to the tent for reading and snuggle time.

RIP marshmallows

 

 

The Midget decided that she wanted her own 'room' and set her things up and put up her divider.

 The Midget's domain

 

I went ahead and set up my things on the other side of the tent. I put my bedding in order and grabbed a flashlight and my Nook and was off to  a dystopian fantasy.

 A short time later the Midget started  asking if I was asleep. She asked again 5 minutes later.  After 30 minutes of this, I asked her what was wrong. She was afraid to be alone over on that side so I invited her to move over to mine.

This wasn't good enough, however. She wedged herself between me and the edge of the tent, demanding that the divider on my side be hung up to a small room that would  'keep us safe and warm.'  Little did I know.... 

I don't know how much later it was but I woke up absolutely freezing. The Midget was half out of her sleeping bag and was as cold as an ice cube. She woke up shivering and I quickly unzipped her bag and snuggled up against her, trying to warm her up. It was a long cold night.

I actually dreamed about Alaska. More specifically running around Barrow in my nightshirt. I remember waking up on and off, but eventually we both ended up dozing off.

                                                      Montana moon

 

*THUS ENDS DAY ONE*

 

 

 



How do you like your purple?

 

Purple prose.

 

 It might not bear the hallmarks of the more emphatically debated topics, but it’s there nonetheless and almost everyone I’ve talked to has an opinion on it.  It can be a tool or a death sentence to a story.

 

The consensus seems to fall into three categories:

Camp one says that it’s a writing style filled with useless words that aren’t important to the crux of the tale being told and can be quite distracting. Such readers prefer to have lots of room for interpretation.

She smiled, enjoying the sun and watching the leaves blow around.

Camp two indicates that they prefer a middle ground-enough detail to describe an environment and a character’s physical sensations without creating a gauntlet the reader is forced to endure.

She smiled as the sun’s warmth shone down on her shoulders in between

 the scattered clouds being tossed about on the breeze.

 

Camp three says that they enjoy the enhanced details and that it greatly enhances their reading experience, giving them an intricate and detailed view of what the author had in mind.

 

She smiled as the heated tendrils of light flowed down, her shoulders soaking

up the heat with a rapturous joy.  Scattered clouds moved languidly, occasionally

passing over her, denying her warmth, and causing her shiver.  A breeze blew

softly around her, pushing the offending darkness away, restoring the connection

between life, light, and skin.

 

 I am the first one to admit I tend to favor the visceral side of things, and that it gives more insight to the workings of my characters’ minds.

 

I was actually doing a bit of research on purple prose since it is something I deal with almost daily.  It's automatic with me.  It could be worse....

"In Defense of Purple Prose, " an  online article from the New York Times, Paul West writes:

             "Of course, purple is not only highly colored prose. It is the world written

up, intensifies and made pleasurably palpable, not only to suggest the

 impetuous abundance of Creation, but also to add to it by

showing - showing off - the expansive power of the mind itself, its unique

knack for making itself at home among trees, dawn, viruses, and then

turning them into something else: a word, a daub, a sonata. The impulse

here is to make everything larger than life, almost to overrespond, maybe

 because, habituated to life written down, in both senses, we become inured

and have to be awakened with something almost intolerably vivid. When

 the deep purple blooms, you are looking at a dimension, not a posy. "

            (http://www.nytimes.com/1985/12/15/books/in-defense-of-purple-prose.html)

Combining cerebral with visceral has been a challenge to be sure.  My past writing style was one that was written such a  cerebral that it required extra purple so that the reader would not become lost.

 

A few readers really got it and went out of their way to tell me how much they liked it, while the majority ended up confused and not getting the story at all. Looking back I can’t help but cringe a bit. (Okay I cringe a lot).

 

 I think many writers aim for balance. I prefer to walk a bit left of that. A touch of unbalance makes my world go ‘round.  

 

Wishing you a purple day,

 

 ~Robyn

 

 

(Note: This is an entry from a blog long ago, that has been reworked and updated as it's still very applicable for me today. It was too good to waste and there are a couple I will be reworking and posting in the coming months. I will note them as such.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where I Came From & Where I Am Now

*Broken Pens*

I’ve written in several stages over my life. As a teenager, the wistful, angst-ridden laments of longing, injustice, and the general gamut of emotions a teen can conjure according to mood and purpose.

Words came so easily then, with no expectations or boxes to fit in; creativity in its pure form. In my later teens things started to slow down. I picked up my pen less often as the concerns of approaching adulthood surfaced and stayed on my radar. I laid down my pen and put it in a drawer of sorts when I was 17.

I’d always been ‘different.’ I’ve always felt a sense of being outside everything, and this only increased as I got older. It became painfully clear that I was the square peg trying to put myself into a round hole just to be accepted.

 

In all of this, some things are better off left unsaid, especially regarding issues of family. The memories and situations are quite painful, even to this day. Some of you close to me have some knowledge of that period of time, but I don’t think it’s productive to go into epic details about it.  

 

I carry plenty of scars. So do you. Some of our scars are bigger than others. The point is that they are scars. Proof of going through something big enough that it has left its mark on you-life laying you on it's forge; hammering and moulding you. Something was learned with each one. My scars had a great deal to do with why I stopped writing.

 

Fast forward a few years. I’d made some absolutely crazy and wonderful friends I now call my family.  Like-minded and equally unique, we stepped out together and forged our own marks on the world as young adults.  As a result I was encouraged to pick up my pen again, and started writing music.

 

I sat before a blank page and tried to pull words from the place I’d left them.  I started to panic when the words wouldn’t come.  I remember walking into the kitchen and getting a cup of coffee and it dawned on me-I’m not that person anymore.

 

So who was I?

 

I sat back down, closed my eyes and let my favorite songs play in my head.  I wrote a paragraph about the songs.  It felt strange. The emotion was there, but not the epic tragedy of life.  I probably sat there for an hour and ended up only eking out a one page poem on non congruent nonsense.  It was a start.

 

The next day I challenged myself to write a paragraph about something in my bathroom. I know, I know, but you have to admit, some of the best thinking is done in that little room.  I had a box of hair dye on the counter and ended up writing three pages about it.  I know what you are thinking-three pages about hair dye?  Yes.  I had discovered my penchant for purple prose.

 

My sense of rightness returned and I fell in love with my pens again. I started writing music. I’ve since written several pieces, and poetry, and finally into the hallowed, chaotic halls of writing stories. I’ve discovered I really enjoy writing music parodies and they do get quite silly, but making people laugh is a reward in itself.

 

Fast forward-yet again-to the present day. (Skipping over all the events that continued to shape me into the person I am today).  I am still filled with self doubt and occasionally fall in to old people pleasing habits.  I am getting better at recognizing when I’m sliding into a slump, but I don’t catch them all. I still fall into the ‘am I good enough’ trap and compare my work to those who are more established and often published authors.

 

I continue to work at chipping away barriers that have existed for a long time, many self imposed.  I’ve received much encouragement from people in several artist fields: painters, poets, authors, musicians, and even a few PhDs working in both the academic and medical fields.

 

I’ve started several projects and written some fan fiction.  Many people might laugh at that, but let me tell you, it’s been one of the best learning tools I’ve found.  Writing for peers has given me excellent feedback, and helped me improve in ways that I will always be grateful for.  Many of the ff plots are original story lines, just borrowing names, maybe merging in a characteristic or two, and some similar locations. 

 

Only one story I’ve written and posted remains online and that’s the one I wrote for my oldest daughter.

 

The rest have been pulled down and deconstructed back to their original forms.  The most interesting thing for me is that my first completed work is a children’s book. I went through several surgeries over the course of two years and my youngest, The Midget, was really concerned and confused.  I woke up one morning before one of my surgeries and the words flowed so fast I almost couldn’t keep up with them, if that makes any sense.

 

I wanted to help her understand what was happening to me. It’s was a success with her and I’ve thought about shopping it out to a publisher. I’m kind of intimidated though, as the genre of young children’s books is the hardest to break in to.  I did submit it to a couple of professionals in the mental health industry and an English professor with her doctorate, and all gave it an enthusiastic review. 

 

If I decide to pursue publishing it, I will post my experiences with the process here.  Hemingway I am not, but I am proud to be among the ranks of those who share the same desires to make the world a better place, even if only on a few pieces of parchment at a time.

 
I’m still a square peg in a round hole world, but there is one big difference.  I embrace it and consider myself lucky to finally know who I am. It’s no longer a burden, but rather one of my greatest strengths. To be able to live outside of the box is an incredible privilege, and one I don’t take for granted

Who am I?

I am forever 29. (In December I celebrated the 19th anniversary of my 29th birthday. You do the math). I am a writer of words and dreamer of dreams. I make grievous grammar mistakes and freely abuse commas and semicolons. I color outside the lines. I am a woman/child who loves life, is passionate about everything, and makes no sense to others than myself a lot of the time. I adopt random musicians and people from Ohio. I rescue all kinds of critters, and have a penchant for cats.

I encourage you to step outside your box.  The view is great from here.

 

-Robyn

 

 

 

 

Near Misses

*.* Cracked Lens *.*

When I decide to shoot a subject, I generally have something specific in mind.  I get really frustrated when I know I've got 2,000 photos to go through, and I do go through every single one. Sometimes I can be so focused that I nearly miss out on some equally wonderful shots that were randomly captured during one of my quests.

I'm such an amateur.   But I'm enjoying every minute of it!

 

 

This is an example of the glass-like quality I tried to capture.

 

Two of my favorite near misses:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These were taken on the Oregon Coast between Depoe Bay and Lincoln City. Shot with the Nikon.

 

I shoot with a Nikon D3100 most of the time and occasionally with my Panasonic Lumix DMC-FH20.  Obviously the Lumix doesn't come close to the quality achieved with the Nikon. The problem I have with the Lumix is the 'white cloud' effect.  It turns out that there is a defect within the camera, but it's out of warranty so here I am; that being said, it shoots decently enough in low light settings, as I found

 out at a recent rock concert.

 

Purchasing a DSLR opened up a whole new world for me-FINALLY-I've been able to achieve the results that I see in my head.  I've had it just over a year, and it's hands down one of the best purchases I've ever made. Some times I have twitchy fingers so I immediately invested in a good tripod.  I was disappointed with the fact that there is no auto time lapse feature built in.

 

Now that I've had a bit of time to experiment with both the zoom and standard lenses I'm ready to add to the mix.  I recently purchased a remote shutter release that has both wireless and wired options.  I picked up a basic  magnification filter set (because I'm not comfortable dropping $200 on a macro lens if I won't use it, lol.)  I also picked up a basic filter kit that has the polarizing, UV, and Florescent pieces. 

 

There are several tutorials online, including how to clean the lenses.  I'm taking mine to a shop because there was some smudging from a raindrop on the main internal mirror and I (very gently) tried to clean it with the simple kit that I already had. 

 

Note to self: Don't touch anything internal without watching a tutorial

 

So I'm comfortable with the quality of the pics that have come out so far.  I seem to be much better at still shots versus  motion.  I hope to change that as I begin the next step-learning what all the numbers, letters, and settings mean.

 

One of the main reasons I chose a Nikon over Cannon had to do with lens compatibility.  Nikon's lenses are all interchangeable...back to the 60s if you look hard enough. the new lenses are generally set up with the auto focus platforms.  That's where the learning curve gets more difficult for me. It just so happens that a relative knew about the lens compatibility and gave me a 12"zoom and a 10"zoom.  Sure enough they fit.  But holy cow was I in for a surprise when I started trying to adjust focus, etc.  So now it's time to start some homework.

 

One thing I would love to get the opportunity to do is to do some band photography.  I need to get in touch of some friends who play around town and see if they will let me come and torture them shoot a few shows.

 

For today, the future is looking bright.

 

Robyn  :)

 

 

Lincoln City Sunset

Shot with my Lumix.

New Beginnings

This has been a long time coming, in the scheme of things.  I have spent the last several years trying to invent a persona to safely hide behind while I explore moving beyond the hobby level of  both  photography & writing, I got lost in the process and landed far away from where I had hoped to be.

I've realized that it's time to stop trying so hard to be what I'm not, and just be who I am. I'm terrified and excited at the same time.

Why Cracked Lens & Broken Pens?

 I don't color within the lines. I have a different and eclectic view of the world around me. My sphere lies far outside of the recognizable box.

I see things very differently in my photography. I can spend hours lying in the gravel, photographing a single blade of grass, focusing in on anything from a single drop of dew to the way the main blade reflects light and/or shadow. 

Where most people would throw a cracked lens away, I would revel in the opportunity to explore the altered view and challenge myself in the process. Sometimes I'm the only one who gets it,  Then there is that ONE shot that causes electricity to race through your body and you know you've captured something special.

 Last summer while on vacation I became fascinated by the glass-like transparency of ocean waves just as they crested. I took well over 5,000 shots trying to capture what I saw in my head. Is that over the top? Some might say so. But to me, when I'm capturing what I see in my head, it's very difficult for me to compromise. As I type this my head is shouting "There is no compromise!"

As far as my writing goes, it's always a work in progress and I am my harshest critic.  I've had several starts with lots of encouragement. The recurring issue has been my lack of self confidence in spite of the encouragement of others who are experienced in the business.

I've spent a great deal of effort trying to force my words to fit into a frame that was never designed for them, if that makes any sense.  The world of fanfiction gave me a great avenue to play with my words, but only one story was truly "meant" to be. It was written for my daughter and is the first thing I'd really written to completion in over 20 years.

I will always be grateful to fanfiction because it was the vehicle that helped me to start writing again.

My new commitment to myself is to let them grow and become what they are intended to be, even if it might be uncomfortable.

I'm going to take a deep breath and come what may, put myself out there.

I am fully aware that I have many challenges ahead of me. I'm still learning the ins and outs of both crafts.  I expect no instant and miraculous overnight successes, but I do expect to learn. I expect to fall down. I also expect to dust my knees off and try again and again.

Success?  In my world it is subjective. If I can sleep at night and bring joy to those around me, even if it's just my inner circle that is success.

I hope you become part of that circle.

Welcome to the beginning of my journey.


Robyn :)