Hello Again: On the Isle of Skye and the Next Draft of The Next Draft :)
My re-entry into civilization after a month on Skye
It’s been a little while.
If you’ve been following my journey over the last few years, you know my geography has shifted quite a bit. From the sun of Southern California to the soul and grit of New Orleans, through the relentless energy of Brooklyn,
Corina and I have finally found a quiet, mildly grounded rhythm up here in Newport, Vermont. I’ve spent the latest (probably not the last) chapter of my life settling into this new landscape, but more importantly, I’ve been writing, as I promised I would late last year (whew!)
Recently, I took off to the Isle of Skye for a month. It was just me, the wind-whipped Scottish coastline, a whole lot of words to process, and new words I hadn’t written yet. Ok, there was also The Stein Inn, a reason in itself to visit Skye, but it was only open for two of the four weeks I was there, so I was still somewhat isolated. I went there to center on a question that I’ve been mulling in my mind lately: What does it take to live a good life?
The answers are as numerous as there are people alive on this earth. I’m also pondering other questions, but for now, given that most experienced nonfiction authors strongly encourage me to have a central theme or unanswerable question to center the essays on, the good life query seems appropriate.
The result of that month of “isolation”, as well as the years of living leading up to it, is that the collection of essays is beginning to take shape. I’m reviving this newsletter (again) because I want this to be the space where I share that journey with you.
The core of this book revolves not only around living a good life but also around what it might take to get there. The mess, the endurance, the mistakes, the joys, victories, love, and lessons learned along the way. I’m beginning to realize that living a good life requires that exact same muscle as it did for me to complete the Chicago marathon—the willingness to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, bleeding along the way, and believing the finish line is worth it.
But the most surprising part of this project happened during week three, and it wasn’t the essays themselves; it was the structure.
As I was writing, I found myself reaching back to a novel I wrote a decade ago. My thought was to write an essay about writing that novel. A meta sort of thing. At the time I wrote it, my granddaughter, Lilo, hadn’t been born or even thought of. But looking back at those pages, I realized that the novel’s eight-year-old protagonist, Muriel, might have been a precursor—a strange, beautiful, connection to the granddaughter I would eventually meet. The past and the present started talking to each other. I know, right?
So, I’m weaving parts of that old novel into these new essays. It’s a tad unconventional, but not unheard of. I’ll be sharing pieces of it here as I go.
The day after I returned from Scotland, I participated in a biweekly, winter event called Tipsy Talks. Most of them take place a few-minute walk from my house, and I agreed to tell of my trip and maybe read from the collection, well before I knew either would be worth doing. The collective response I received from the 50-ish people there was overwhelming. Most laughed and were moved where I hoped they would, and surprisingly, I made it through the reading, only shedding a few tears. I will share one of those essays with you soon.
I’m thrilled to be writing to you again. Grab a beverage of choice, and let’s figure out this “good life” thing together.
Talk soon,
Kevin