I flew to Montana this week for my paternal grandmother’s funeral service and internment. The service was nice, the cremation urn was beautiful, and Montana in November is a bit on the cold side.
I did receive an inheritance, which takes a lot of worry of my plate for the time being. Part of will go into an investment of some sort and the rest will go towards keeping my bank account above that magic number below which they start charging maintenance fees.
But the other thing my Grammy gave me was time. I am not much of a sprinter when it comes to writing. Work keeps me busy and I am easily distracted. Pantsing this novel didn’t help, although I always had a pretty good idea of the story arc in my head that will become infinitely better articulated in the second draft.
Flying to Montana from California happens in two legs, connecting either through Seattle, Salt Lake City, or Denver in my experience. (Hashtag SeaTac is my favorite airport of all time.) Each flight is about 1-2 hours long, providing a good long stretch of no internet and the imminent concern of running out of battery power, thus significantly limiting distractions and lack of urgency.
Flying there, I hit almost 5000 words in one day. Flying back, I hit somewhere around 7000 for the win and validated my novel in the car ride home from the airport. Grammy, this victory was for you.