Just got back from a wedding. Hmmm. What can one say about weddings? This one was not as long as others I have been to. In fact, immediately after the ceremony most of the wedding party (except for the bride and groom) changed into sweats and t-shirts. Not me though. It takes time to strap me into a dress and heels, and it would have taken time to get me out of them.
I figure I lasted about eight or nine hours in 3 inch heels. Pretty good for someone who favors engineer boots with her mini skirts in general.
After we visited some cool places in Washington State- Ape Caves being especially cool. They’re deep caves created by prehistoric volcanic explosions. Mt. St. Helen’s is right around the corner and I must say, that puppy looks like it’s going to blow any second. Speaking of which, it does in my new book, LUCKY, and buries all of Portland, Oregon. Sorry Portland and sorry, best-bookstore-in-the-world-besides-Cody’s-(miss you!)and- Dark Carnival-in-Berkeley—-Powell’s Books. I felt just sick about raining hot ash and lava down upon you. Of course I let most of California slip into the sea.
Speaking of places in books which actually exist, after the wedding trip we wended our way down the coast because although the west coast is humongously long it’s still all in the same general area and one cannot go to Washington State without also visiting Oregon and California. Didn’t quite make it down to So Cal which is a pity since I recently got back in touch with a dear college friend who lives there, but did spend a day in the afore-mentioned and much-beloved Berkeley–my old stomping grounds. I found it hardly changed which was both comforting and discomforting.
While we there, we saw friends and I also just sat back in the car and soaked stuff in, letting my brain roam around, stopping at various memories. My current WIP is based in the Oakland-Berkeley-Emeryville area where I lived for eighteen years. Of course large chunks of those places don’t exist anymore. West Oakland has become even more depressed and Emeryville back in the 80’s was mostly landfill and not the glorious shining yuppy Oz it is now with Pixar, artist lofts and its tree and cafe-lined streets. We used to be able to walk to the bay over the toxic mudflats. They’ve shored those up now and built on them and I can only wonder what sort of evil chemicals are seeping into the groundwater.
Anyway it may have been a dump but it was our playground. Acres of industrial waste, empty warehouses, falling down Victorians from the era when Emeryville was famous for casinos, speakeasies and jazz clubs. What better place for punk rockers to live outside the shadow of authority?
It would be lying to say that I recaptured all the angst of my teenage years in that brief visit but I did see where we lived and where we played and it brought a lot of memories back. All of those moments swirl around in my brain while I idly think about the next book I will write. It sets the stage. It flavors the back story. It allows me to close my eyes and see my characters against a back-drop. It makes it all real. And easier to conjure up.
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