I really like Southeast Alaska. It's a beautiful and compelling place. But in one way, it was hard for me to be there. That's because the first time I went there, in 98, I was at a very low place in my own life. Michelle and I had separated, and we would exchange bitter emails and hateful telephone conversations intermixed with commitments to try again and reiterations of love.
It was the only time in my life that I tried "writing" full time. That didn't go well, either. I sat at my little laptop and produced quite a bit. But I wasn't happy with it. Or not happy with myself. In the end, I deleted over 200 pages of dense writing. And then I regretted it. And later, I lost almost an entire novel, begun during this period, to a hard drive failure. The writing of this time was destined not to exist.
I always felt a weird kind of claustrophobia in Craig, too. That's not the right word. The problem is that in small, isolated communities like that, there's no space to be a "stranger." Everyone needs to know who you are, and what you're doing. They may leave you alone, but just the need to explain myself to everyone I met was awkward.
So… did I enjoy seeing Arthur? Definitely. Will I be moving to Southeast Alaska? Probably not.
More later.