Yesterday I met with Hanae Rivera, illustrator of Kodoku, to try to work out her storyboards. I had known since my meeting with J. at Heyday that I couldn't stand most of my previous draft, but had hoped the feeling would go away. It didn't because I was right. My previous draft was not good enough. It was muddy, went in all directions, lacked form.
I had written it before I worked on Kodoku the play. In writing the play, I finally realized why Kenichi was important to me and why I felt the thrum of the story so powerfully. It's about becoming an artist.
Here is the new version. The first bit is just an informational paragraph. The later part of the manuscript is intentionally sparse to allow for some purely visual storytelling.
In 1962, twenty-three year old Kenichi Horie boarded a
sailboat called The Mermaid, left Nishinomiya, Japan and
began to cross the Pacific Ocean. His destination was San
Francisco, California. His solo journey lasted ninety-four
days and was the first of its kind. Kenichi Horie has spent
his life as an adventurer. His first sailboat, The Mermaid
was donated to the San Francisco Maritime Museum.
Kodoku
Kenichi watched the waters. The waters watched back.
They showed him the wind and the boats and the wind
moving the boats across the waters. White smudges on
Osaka Bay. The waters shouted to him.
The wind moves forever
across an ocean that never ends.
That is what Kenichi heard, but the shout is different for
everyone who hears it.
The shout leaped inside Kenichi like a heartbeat. To be a
sailor on that wind... To launch a boat across that ocean...
To prepare, Kenichi studied the living map of the stars. He
learned the names of clouds. His hands became practiced
with needle and thread.
Kenichi grew older but the shout stayed young.
The wind moves forever
across an ocean that never ends.
He bent wood into a boat that was small, sturdy, and fat.
She was built with his sweat. She was built with his blood.
She was built with his breath. He called her The Mermaid.
The journey began in a night with no moon. The waters
that called to him were black. The wind kissed the sails
softly, as if frightened to wake them. Only an old woman
saw him push off slowly from shore. No one knew he was
crossing the ocean.
The ocean is a monster and is home to monsters. The
typhoon came on cloud feet. Kenichi and The Mermaid
fought the monster for fourteen days before it became
bored and went away.
The waters were bright and new and calm, but Kenichi
could not see them. He sat huddled in a shadow. He had
been so scared, but there were no arms to hold him, no eyes
to warm him, no voice but his own. Those who follow the
shout will hear this also: Kodoku-- the cry of loneliness.
His journey became broader and stranger.
The good days tasted like fish.
In the enormity of life, there are friends you will only meet
once.
The shout can consume you. Kenichi began to forget
himself. There was only the ocean, only the wind. He lost
his past. He cared nothing for his future. He rode the wind
with men-of-war and thought he was one of them.
San Francisco carved a hole in the night with its lights. It
said, warm bath and it said hot meal and it said people!
Other people! Kenichi dropped anchor and waited until the
sun rose to show the way.
Kenichi's soul had become as big as a bridge. But even as
he touched the land again, and even during the parades and
parties and fame that followed, he heard it. The waters. The
wind. The leaping shout.
The wind moves forever
across an ocean that never ends.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The months and days are wayfarers of a hundred generations
Yesterday my wife Olga turned 30. We were not able to celebrate together because she was down in Irvine at a conference, getting hugged by Joe Palca (NPR), and sang to by an entire room during a panel discussion. Instead, Irene and Jeremy came down to Felton to visit. We celebrated on Olga's behalf by wine tasting in the mountains.
After Irene and Jeremy headed back to Oakland, I settled in for my first night alone in our new place. As I was was operating on roughly four hours of sleep over 56 hours, had been wine tasting all day, and had nothing else to do, I poured myself a nice glass of Jameson, put on some Brahms, flipped thru Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior, stripped to my wife-beater and boxers, and got all dozy.
But first I wanted to charge my phone so that when the wife did call, I could talk to her. As she had taken our wall charger with her, I had to improvise. I went out to Nash Lenin, our second car, turned the key so the electrics would start, and plugged my phone into the car charger.
All of these details are important, really.
I read: "My close friends, who had been gathered since the previous evening, sent me off in a boat. When we climbed out of the boat at a place called Senju, I was depressed by the thought of the three thousand miles that lay ahead and shed tears at a parting in this illusory world." and fell happily to sleep.
It was roughly 6:30.
At 8:30 I wake to find two deputies standing at the threshold of the now open door to my apartment.
So there I am, half awake, half-dressed like poor white men always seem to be when John Law pays them a visit, staring blearily at two armed men.
They ask me my name, ask where my wife is, ask if I've been drinking ('not that we care, we're just asking'), and then proceed to enlighten me as to the reason for their friendly call.
Apparently a neighbor had seen my car with the keys in it, the phone on the seat, and the radio softly going, and had decided that I had been abducted or worse and called the sheriff, rather than knocking on my door or even just minding his or her own business.
The deputies give me my keys back, tell me my phone is in my car, and that I should probably keep my doors locked.
"We almost came in with our guns out."
"Well, I appreciate your restraint."
They also called the last number in my phone, which was Irene. They didn't tell me they got a hold of her and freaked her out with their (im)probable abduction story.
My phone retrieved and John Law gone off to protect and serve elsewhere, I pour myself another glass of Jameson and dozily keep Basho company on his journey.
Then Jeremy calls to see if I have been abducted, because the sheriff called and told them I had been. They are relieved that I am in possession of my own person.
Then Olga calls to see if I have been abducted because Irene had called her to see if I had been. She was pretty sure I was unabducted.
Quite a bit of fuss. A drama involving at least one nervous neighbor, a dispatcher, two deputies, and three cities, (Oakland, Felton, Irvine) two friends and one wife, all around a phone charging in a car and a man napping in his apartment.
After Irene and Jeremy headed back to Oakland, I settled in for my first night alone in our new place. As I was was operating on roughly four hours of sleep over 56 hours, had been wine tasting all day, and had nothing else to do, I poured myself a nice glass of Jameson, put on some Brahms, flipped thru Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior, stripped to my wife-beater and boxers, and got all dozy.
But first I wanted to charge my phone so that when the wife did call, I could talk to her. As she had taken our wall charger with her, I had to improvise. I went out to Nash Lenin, our second car, turned the key so the electrics would start, and plugged my phone into the car charger.
All of these details are important, really.
I read: "My close friends, who had been gathered since the previous evening, sent me off in a boat. When we climbed out of the boat at a place called Senju, I was depressed by the thought of the three thousand miles that lay ahead and shed tears at a parting in this illusory world." and fell happily to sleep.
It was roughly 6:30.
At 8:30 I wake to find two deputies standing at the threshold of the now open door to my apartment.
So there I am, half awake, half-dressed like poor white men always seem to be when John Law pays them a visit, staring blearily at two armed men.
They ask me my name, ask where my wife is, ask if I've been drinking ('not that we care, we're just asking'), and then proceed to enlighten me as to the reason for their friendly call.
Apparently a neighbor had seen my car with the keys in it, the phone on the seat, and the radio softly going, and had decided that I had been abducted or worse and called the sheriff, rather than knocking on my door or even just minding his or her own business.
The deputies give me my keys back, tell me my phone is in my car, and that I should probably keep my doors locked.
"We almost came in with our guns out."
"Well, I appreciate your restraint."
They also called the last number in my phone, which was Irene. They didn't tell me they got a hold of her and freaked her out with their (im)probable abduction story.
My phone retrieved and John Law gone off to protect and serve elsewhere, I pour myself another glass of Jameson and dozily keep Basho company on his journey.
Then Jeremy calls to see if I have been abducted, because the sheriff called and told them I had been. They are relieved that I am in possession of my own person.
Then Olga calls to see if I have been abducted because Irene had called her to see if I had been. She was pretty sure I was unabducted.
Quite a bit of fuss. A drama involving at least one nervous neighbor, a dispatcher, two deputies, and three cities, (Oakland, Felton, Irvine) two friends and one wife, all around a phone charging in a car and a man napping in his apartment.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
before the stoneday blows the men and animal-swarms empty
That's a line from Paul Celan.
Hello neglected readers, neglected intent. One would think that my own crush in Kansas would have made for ample posting here, but somehow, things worked out differently. My writing has proceeded apace, as they say, but on many other projects.
For instance, Hanae and I signed our contracts with Heyday Books on Wednesday for Kodoku.
It lives.
But I have no time to pause. Remember: "It's later than you think."
My work has been filled recently with a Minotaur, the mythical city Quivera, a giant named Hunger, the diaspora of pigeons, and, today, the ancient oak forest of Long Valley, north Monterey Co, and the crack of a whip.
Tomorrow I'm finally going to make the pilgrimage to Tor House, the stone home built by Robinson Jeffers and his son. Robinson Jeffers is one of the finest poets of the 20th Century but only a handful of people know it. Here, I'll prove it.
Tor House
If you should look for this place after a handful of lifetimes:
Perhaps of my planted forest a few
May stand yet, dark leaved- Australians or the coast cypress, haggard
with storm drift; but fire and the axe are devils.
Look for the foundations of sea-worn granite, my fingers had the art
to make stone love stone, you will find some remnant.
But if you should look in your idleness after ten thousand years:
it is the granite knoll on the granite
and lava tongue in the midst of the bay, by the mouth of the Carmel
River-Valley, these four will remain
in the change of names. You will know it by the wild sea-fragrance of the wind
though the ocean may have climbed or retired a little;
You will know it by the valley inland that our sun and our moon were born from
before the poles changed; and Orion in December
evenings was strung in the throat of the valley like a lamp-lighted bridge.
Come in the morning you will see white gulls
weaving a dance over blue water, the wane of the moon
their dance companion, a ghost walking
by daylight, but wider and whiter than any bird in the world.
My ghost you needn't look for; it is probably
here, but a dark one, deep in the granite, not dancing on wind
with the mad wings and the day moon.
--Robinson Jeffers
Of more topical things I will speak later.
Hello neglected readers, neglected intent. One would think that my own crush in Kansas would have made for ample posting here, but somehow, things worked out differently. My writing has proceeded apace, as they say, but on many other projects.
For instance, Hanae and I signed our contracts with Heyday Books on Wednesday for Kodoku.
It lives.
But I have no time to pause. Remember: "It's later than you think."
My work has been filled recently with a Minotaur, the mythical city Quivera, a giant named Hunger, the diaspora of pigeons, and, today, the ancient oak forest of Long Valley, north Monterey Co, and the crack of a whip.
Tomorrow I'm finally going to make the pilgrimage to Tor House, the stone home built by Robinson Jeffers and his son. Robinson Jeffers is one of the finest poets of the 20th Century but only a handful of people know it. Here, I'll prove it.
Tor House
If you should look for this place after a handful of lifetimes:
Perhaps of my planted forest a few
May stand yet, dark leaved- Australians or the coast cypress, haggard
with storm drift; but fire and the axe are devils.
Look for the foundations of sea-worn granite, my fingers had the art
to make stone love stone, you will find some remnant.
But if you should look in your idleness after ten thousand years:
it is the granite knoll on the granite
and lava tongue in the midst of the bay, by the mouth of the Carmel
River-Valley, these four will remain
in the change of names. You will know it by the wild sea-fragrance of the wind
though the ocean may have climbed or retired a little;
You will know it by the valley inland that our sun and our moon were born from
before the poles changed; and Orion in December
evenings was strung in the throat of the valley like a lamp-lighted bridge.
Come in the morning you will see white gulls
weaving a dance over blue water, the wane of the moon
their dance companion, a ghost walking
by daylight, but wider and whiter than any bird in the world.
My ghost you needn't look for; it is probably
here, but a dark one, deep in the granite, not dancing on wind
with the mad wings and the day moon.
--Robinson Jeffers
Of more topical things I will speak later.
Friday, October 2, 2009
clouds
I translated a poem this morning. I like it, so I'm posting it.
Clouds
There is nothing that is not
a cloud. The cathedrals of unbound
stone, yes, and the stained glass,
all wait to be erased.
The Odyssey, shifting with the sea,
is strange again with each new reading.
Already, your face in the mirror has changed
and the day is a dissimulating labyrinth.
We are the ones who go. The cloud that disintegrates
is our image. Incessantly, the rose becomes another rose.
You are the clouds, you are the sea, you are oblivion.
You are the one you have lost.
--Jorge Luis Borges
(trans. William Emery)
Clouds
There is nothing that is not
a cloud. The cathedrals of unbound
stone, yes, and the stained glass,
all wait to be erased.
The Odyssey, shifting with the sea,
is strange again with each new reading.
Already, your face in the mirror has changed
and the day is a dissimulating labyrinth.
We are the ones who go. The cloud that disintegrates
is our image. Incessantly, the rose becomes another rose.
You are the clouds, you are the sea, you are oblivion.
You are the one you have lost.
--Jorge Luis Borges
(trans. William Emery)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Kodoku
A few weeks ago I sent a proposal for a children's book to Heyday. Last week (my god, it was just last week) I received some happy noises from them, and and was then inspired to work the material into a play, as my friend Su suggested. This has taken over my writing time and led me away from this proposal. It is going very well, so I don't want to let it alone until I get a draft done. But, as this blog is about my writing as a whole, and publishing, obviously, I thought I'd mention it.
Gee, ain't I laconic. In truth I am very, very excited by this news, not the least of which because I am working with artist Hanae Rivera.
Anyway, here is the proposal. It is inspired by more formal proposals but tailored to Heyday Books and the people I know there.
Kodoku
a story for children by William Emery
illustrated by Hanae Rivera
Proposal for Heyday Books
Summary
Kodoku is a 32 page picture book about the legendary Japanese Marine Adventurer, Kenichi Horie. He first made history in 1962 when he sailed alone from Osaka to San Francisco, the first man to ever achieve such a feat. The book begins with Kenichi as a child, fascinated with the ocean, in love with the winds, watching the sailboats ride the waters around Osaka. Kenichi's plan takes shape as he grows older, learns to sail and to read the stars as a map, until he leaves Osaka, in secret, to sail alone across the Pacific Ocean to San Francisco on his boat, The Mermaid. The rest of the story contains Kenichi's adventures on the ocean until he arrives in San Francisco, 94 days after his departure.
Sales and Marketing Potential
50th Anniversary
Kenichi made his historic journey in 1962. 2012 will mark the 50th anniversary. Kenichi Horie continues to be an important figure in the world of sailing and 'maritime adventuring.' A children's book of his beginnings will be perfectly timed.
Kenichi Horie
Kencihi Horie continues to make history with his solo sailing. In 2008 he became the first man to sail across the Pacific in a wave-powered boat. He celebrated the 40th Anniversary of his first voyage in 2002 by sailing a replica of the original Mermaid made from all recycled materials across the Pacific. It seems very likely that he will be celebrating the 50th Anniversary of his voyage in a similarly newsworthy fashion.
I have contacted a few yacht-clubs that he has ties to and a couple reporters who have interviewed him in the hopes of getting in touch with him. It seems likely that he'd be interested in being involved with the book in some capacity.
The Mermaid
The Mermaid, Kenichi Horie's original sailboat, is a part of the San Francisco Maritime Museum's collection. A co-publishing arrangement would be worth pursuing, though I understand that currently the museum is closed for renovations. I have not been able to contact anyone directly involved. Maritime Museums in general will be great nontraditional sellers of the book. There are 648 Maritime Museums alone in the United States.
Audience
The simple bravery of the story, a man sailing the ocean alone, will appeal to a wide variety of readers. At the same time, the inherent multicultural message and the Japanese protagonist will appeal to the Asian American community, and anyone interested in diversity in children's literature.
Foreign Rights
Though Kenichi Horie is well-known in sailing circles world-wide, in Japan he is extremely famous. Japanese rights would seem like an easy sell.
The Story of the Project
Joanne first came to me with the idea when we both worked at Heyday. She was just beginning her push for more children's titles and had run across The Mermaid in the SF Maritime Museum. They displayed the boat with a plaque that told the basic story. She told it to me and I ordered a copy of Kodoku: Sailing Alone across the Pacific, Kenichi's Horie's log, out of curiosity. But, as writers and illustrators cannot be ordered out of thin air by the staff of a publishing company, I set the book and the idea aside.
When I encountered the art of Hanae Rivera, a friend and co-worker, the idea came back with great force. Something about the soft, sinuous muscle of her art, and her fascination with things aquatic inspired me to attempt the story in collaboration with her.
I first wrote up a very literal re-telling of his log. The book began when Kenichi left Japan and ended when he arrived in America. The story moved through a series of events, ranging from atomic explosion to eluding rescue, from sharks to man-of-war. I tried to use the simple charm of his prose style and included direct phrasing such as 'like a astronaut on the loose.' I showed this version to Joanne, now at Tricycle, to get her feedback. While still excited by the project, she gave me a tutorial in the rules and formal preferences of the children's book world (information neither of us had when we were at Heyday, incidentally).
Hanae's illustrations and sketches for the project date from this first draft. She is flexible enough to change her style and/or tone as Heyday sees best.
I worked out a new version that followed Joanne's advice. I abandoned the attempt to reproduce his naive language and began the story in his childhood. What eventually emerged was a much more emotionally forceful retelling in a language more my own. I again showed the draft to Joanne who said that it was ready to sell.
Of the ways in which this project could become a book, my first preference is publication by Heyday. It was born there, was shaped by two former-employees, and is a place that I love that produces work that I adore. I think Kodoku might be a good book for Heyday and I hope this project might be another moment in a life-long relationship with the press.
So that's my story and this is my proposal.
Sincerely,
William Emery Justice
Gee, ain't I laconic. In truth I am very, very excited by this news, not the least of which because I am working with artist Hanae Rivera.
Anyway, here is the proposal. It is inspired by more formal proposals but tailored to Heyday Books and the people I know there.
Kodoku
a story for children by William Emery
illustrated by Hanae Rivera
Proposal for Heyday Books
Summary
Kodoku is a 32 page picture book about the legendary Japanese Marine Adventurer, Kenichi Horie. He first made history in 1962 when he sailed alone from Osaka to San Francisco, the first man to ever achieve such a feat. The book begins with Kenichi as a child, fascinated with the ocean, in love with the winds, watching the sailboats ride the waters around Osaka. Kenichi's plan takes shape as he grows older, learns to sail and to read the stars as a map, until he leaves Osaka, in secret, to sail alone across the Pacific Ocean to San Francisco on his boat, The Mermaid. The rest of the story contains Kenichi's adventures on the ocean until he arrives in San Francisco, 94 days after his departure.
Sales and Marketing Potential
50th Anniversary
Kenichi made his historic journey in 1962. 2012 will mark the 50th anniversary. Kenichi Horie continues to be an important figure in the world of sailing and 'maritime adventuring.' A children's book of his beginnings will be perfectly timed.
Kenichi Horie
Kencihi Horie continues to make history with his solo sailing. In 2008 he became the first man to sail across the Pacific in a wave-powered boat. He celebrated the 40th Anniversary of his first voyage in 2002 by sailing a replica of the original Mermaid made from all recycled materials across the Pacific. It seems very likely that he will be celebrating the 50th Anniversary of his voyage in a similarly newsworthy fashion.
I have contacted a few yacht-clubs that he has ties to and a couple reporters who have interviewed him in the hopes of getting in touch with him. It seems likely that he'd be interested in being involved with the book in some capacity.
The Mermaid
The Mermaid, Kenichi Horie's original sailboat, is a part of the San Francisco Maritime Museum's collection. A co-publishing arrangement would be worth pursuing, though I understand that currently the museum is closed for renovations. I have not been able to contact anyone directly involved. Maritime Museums in general will be great nontraditional sellers of the book. There are 648 Maritime Museums alone in the United States.
Audience
The simple bravery of the story, a man sailing the ocean alone, will appeal to a wide variety of readers. At the same time, the inherent multicultural message and the Japanese protagonist will appeal to the Asian American community, and anyone interested in diversity in children's literature.
Foreign Rights
Though Kenichi Horie is well-known in sailing circles world-wide, in Japan he is extremely famous. Japanese rights would seem like an easy sell.
The Story of the Project
Joanne first came to me with the idea when we both worked at Heyday. She was just beginning her push for more children's titles and had run across The Mermaid in the SF Maritime Museum. They displayed the boat with a plaque that told the basic story. She told it to me and I ordered a copy of Kodoku: Sailing Alone across the Pacific, Kenichi's Horie's log, out of curiosity. But, as writers and illustrators cannot be ordered out of thin air by the staff of a publishing company, I set the book and the idea aside.
When I encountered the art of Hanae Rivera, a friend and co-worker, the idea came back with great force. Something about the soft, sinuous muscle of her art, and her fascination with things aquatic inspired me to attempt the story in collaboration with her.
I first wrote up a very literal re-telling of his log. The book began when Kenichi left Japan and ended when he arrived in America. The story moved through a series of events, ranging from atomic explosion to eluding rescue, from sharks to man-of-war. I tried to use the simple charm of his prose style and included direct phrasing such as 'like a astronaut on the loose.' I showed this version to Joanne, now at Tricycle, to get her feedback. While still excited by the project, she gave me a tutorial in the rules and formal preferences of the children's book world (information neither of us had when we were at Heyday, incidentally).
Hanae's illustrations and sketches for the project date from this first draft. She is flexible enough to change her style and/or tone as Heyday sees best.
I worked out a new version that followed Joanne's advice. I abandoned the attempt to reproduce his naive language and began the story in his childhood. What eventually emerged was a much more emotionally forceful retelling in a language more my own. I again showed the draft to Joanne who said that it was ready to sell.
Of the ways in which this project could become a book, my first preference is publication by Heyday. It was born there, was shaped by two former-employees, and is a place that I love that produces work that I adore. I think Kodoku might be a good book for Heyday and I hope this project might be another moment in a life-long relationship with the press.
So that's my story and this is my proposal.
Sincerely,
William Emery Justice
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
I am at war
This is the first draft of the first three stops along my world-and-year-wide tour. It begins in immense turmoil (and Lebanon is next, followed by Uzbekistan). I've realized that there are three historical divisions at work in this story. Muslim vs. Christian world. Colonialism vs. well, everyone, really. And finally Globalization vs. Economic Independence (also, everyone, really.)
To throw myself into these worlds, currently imagined from research's thin gleaning, to attempt it at all-- Well, I have to be Faust once in my life.
Crete
Arrival on the Island of Aphrodite. The impetus for this strange journey explained, my small host of vines on the Kansas plains. Commandaria, the world's first wine? Ayios Mamas: a partisan village from the war for independence. Revecca Spirits Winery. Traditional, preserved. First harvest. Then, travel north, towards Nicosia, a city torn in two. Arrival at Vlassides Winery in Kilani. Innovation and chemistry. The Turkish legacy, once settlers, now laborers. The future of antiquity.
Turkey
Is this enemy territory? Armenian genocide, Islam, Cypriot invasion. Black market production. Arrival at the Corvus Winery on the wine island of Bozcaada. The vanguard of quality Turkish wine. Then, off to Elazig, in Eastern Turkey, to harvest Oküzgözü, one of Turkey's traditional varieties. A trip to Mt. Ararat, site, it is said, of Noah's vineyards.
Israel
Arrival in Galilee. Wine and the Old Testament. Yekev Ben-Zimra Winery, Israeli co-operative agricultural tradition. The Golan Heights Winery. Wine-making in a contested land. A spectator in the experimental wine-making station. Then, the Cremisan Winery in Palestine, founded in 1885.
To throw myself into these worlds, currently imagined from research's thin gleaning, to attempt it at all-- Well, I have to be Faust once in my life.
Crete
Arrival on the Island of Aphrodite. The impetus for this strange journey explained, my small host of vines on the Kansas plains. Commandaria, the world's first wine? Ayios Mamas: a partisan village from the war for independence. Revecca Spirits Winery. Traditional, preserved. First harvest. Then, travel north, towards Nicosia, a city torn in two. Arrival at Vlassides Winery in Kilani. Innovation and chemistry. The Turkish legacy, once settlers, now laborers. The future of antiquity.
Turkey
Is this enemy territory? Armenian genocide, Islam, Cypriot invasion. Black market production. Arrival at the Corvus Winery on the wine island of Bozcaada. The vanguard of quality Turkish wine. Then, off to Elazig, in Eastern Turkey, to harvest Oküzgözü, one of Turkey's traditional varieties. A trip to Mt. Ararat, site, it is said, of Noah's vineyards.
Israel
Arrival in Galilee. Wine and the Old Testament. Yekev Ben-Zimra Winery, Israeli co-operative agricultural tradition. The Golan Heights Winery. Wine-making in a contested land. A spectator in the experimental wine-making station. Then, the Cremisan Winery in Palestine, founded in 1885.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Messina Hof
Howdy! I'm in Texas.
First, the personal update: We have moved house. I now have a cozy little room in what was once our garage, and an apartment in Felton, California, north of Santa Cruz, which has yet to be set up.
Today, this work begins again. The proposal will be done by the end of this week.
I'll be in touch.
First, the personal update: We have moved house. I now have a cozy little room in what was once our garage, and an apartment in Felton, California, north of Santa Cruz, which has yet to be set up.
Today, this work begins again. The proposal will be done by the end of this week.
I'll be in touch.
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