Two years ago, a bunch of writers joined Rain Graves at a mansion on the shoulders of Mt. Tam to write and hunt ghosts. The first night was quiet, until we went to bed. Just before dawn, the ghosts went from room to room, waking us up.
Now we're back. Rain, Sephera Giron, and I came up earlier this afternoon. I'd forgotten just how far back in the woods the house is. Rain's big truck hugged the edge of the one-lane road as we wound upwards.
I brought a ton of stuff to work on. Today I'm easing in with the blogging, but I don't expect I'm going to get much sleep while we're here. There will be plenty of hours to reread my novel tonight. Tomorrow, when there are more people moving around, I'll find a porch and get down to work on the essays I need to revise.
Hm. Just now, without any breeze, the door beside me just slowly swung closed. Weston Ochse stepped through it, looked it over, and set it open again. No reason why it should have moved on its own.
I guess it's good that we're not going to have to wait for the ghosts to say hello.
Causes Loren Rhoads Supports