Day Zero – Flying to Germany

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

My computer setup at Webe Coffee in Phoenix, Arizona

In less than a week we board an American Airlines flight to Dallas, Texas, and race to another gate for our long haul to Frankfurt, Germany, which is the start of this year’s major vacation. For the next days, details regarding how we leave our apartment, what goes where, and whatever other things must be tended to will be the center of my attention. Maybe my biggest goal is not to fall into the anxiety of stressing about aspects of packing and travel that should be second nature to us by now, but still, there is an undercurrent of uncertainty.

There’s a hunger to return to writing while I’m in this holding pattern, but though I’ll turn to my blog for brief moments, I am not giving in to opening my novel and getting lost in it. But I am ready to start the note-taking that will lead to sharing our experiences and impressions while in France and Germany, though they won’t be published and show up here before our return to the States in June. After getting back home, I’ll hit the ground blogging with as much intensity as I can bring to the matter. There will be a cutoff in early July when we point our car toward Santa Fe, New Mexico, for what has become an annual pilgrimage to attend the International Folk Art Market.

Maybe you see through this, I’m writing a bunch of blah, blah, blah, because I have nothing better to do and I don’t want to invest myself in distractions that risk capturing my attention. Yet, all I can think about is our upcoming trip. Well, that is until I’m at home working on chores such as yanking out the refrigerator to clean below it, same will be true for the stove, and it’s not until you are on your hands and knees with a headlamp shining from your forehead that you start to notice all the other corners that have been neglected and need a thorough cleaning. So, I bring sponge and 409 into action with knees suffering as I crawl about cleaning these hidden places, knowing that when we get home, we’ll not only be refreshed from our break with routine, but that arrival will come with the satisfaction that there is nothing required of us regarding maintenance of our humble dwelling.

Safety guide from American Airlines

In a little more than 12 hours, we’ll be leaving for the airport. Other than packing, we are ready to leave. A last-minute snafu regarding our rental car was resolved quickly, but it wasn’t without undue stress and meant I had to cancel our reservation with a company we’ve worked with before. I’m tired and looking forward to relaxing after we transfer terminals and board our flight out of Dallas, Texas, for Frankfurt, Germany.

Phoenix, Arizona

After little more than 30 minutes in the air, we’ve reached cruising altitude. Globe, Arizona, is the last town I recognize before the 10,000 shadows of the cottony puffball clouds speckle the desert below, and I lose the landmarks more easily seen while driving over the landscape. Drinks and snacks arrive in short order.

Dallas, Texas

Landing in Dallas, Texas, where we had less than an hour for transferring to our international flight, was only stressful in our minds, as anticipated hiccups never materialized. After a mere five minutes to move between terminals, our upgrade to a priority boarding group soothed some of the stress, allowing us to get on the plane while plenty of overhead storage was still available. What wasn’t pleasant was the exit seats I’d booked that turned out not to have a window. This was a horror for me as it meant I’d not be taking photos between Texas and Germany. Two hours into our flight leaving the States, dinner was served, which had the effect of weighing heavily on my writing hand and eyes, thus denying me the focus to write a word during the remaining eight hours in the air.

Handwoven tea towel made by Caroline Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

Meanwhile, Caroline continued finishing details on the towels she wove for friends and family, such as sewing on the “Handmade By Caroline Wise” labels. With 90 minutes remaining on our flight, breakfast is rolled out, so when we land at 9:00, we can focus on heading into Saturday, while back in Phoenix, Arizona, it’s still Friday, about 10:30 pm, typically our bedtime. Such is the disorientation of flying to other continents, a consequence I never grow accustomed to.

In the Margin

JWise Photo of the Day, Thoughts

Picketpost Mountain in Superior, Arizona

Uncertainty as a motivating factor seems incongruent when a desired outcome requires a level of intentionality that one hopes will guide a process to results that will validate one’s actions. That was the circumstance that led me, with blind ambition, to leave Phoenix on Saturday, March 22nd, heading east, hoping a sojourn to the middle of nowhere would catapult the languid pace of writing I’d run into regarding my novel. While I can maintain my vigilance relatively consistently, my productivity isn’t guaranteed to reach the prolific heights I strive for. Those swings in outcomes are typically just a part of the process, but I was running into the limitations of time, not regarding the book, but of finding the headspace to begin planning our upcoming vacation.

Guayo's El Rey Mexican Restaurant in Miami, Arizona

It’s possible that I was traveling with a hint of depression on this solo trip into the wide expanse of the desert. Typically, Picketpost Mountain in Superior (found in the first photo), an hour outside of Phoenix, is where the condition of whatever it was that left me in a funk begins lifting. That wasn’t holding true on this trip as I dwelled on the sour idea that I was giving up on John-and-Caroline time and that whatever meager additions I might accomplish in my writing could have just as well been done in Phoenix. You see, previously, when heading to Duncan, I knew that going to this remote outpost would amplify my productivity. For this trip, that confidence was missing. Believe it or not, which is also why I referenced the possible depression, I almost skipped out on stopping at Guayo’s El Rey Mexican Restaurant, home of the best ever carne asada smothered in green chile and cheese. Fortunately, I came to my senses and found salvation in the holy temple of food.

Molly and Dimitri, two cats from the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

I reached the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona, near the western edge of New Mexico, in the late afternoon, finding Dimitri and Molly locked in the feline snuggle of purring cats that would make most anyone say “awwww,” well, except for you weird cat haters out there. Adamant that I would not waste a minute of this indulgence to be away from Phoenix, I immediately set up my computer at the table as I’ve done the same on many other occasions before this one, and tried leaning into my work. Like other days, I was able to eke out a minimum, and before quitting for the evening, I’d added another thousand or so words to my growing document.

Railroad Avenue and Main Street in Duncan, Arizona

I apologize for using the worn-out metaphor, but here I am at a literal and figurative crossroads. This photo of Railroad Avenue and Main Street was the literal, while figuratively, I reached a point in the draft of my novel that I could see an opportunity to bring closure to the first half of the book, thus allowing me to set it aside to offer my attention to the travel planning that would be required for us to take our summer holiday.

Possibly a Western Poplar Sphinx Moth in Duncan, Arizona

Muhammed Ali once said something about floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. I don’t know if anyone ever offered something poetic about moths and writers, but this photograph of a Western Poplar Sphinx Moth is all I’ve got for helping shape something witty to say. Not being a poet, I had to turn to AI for help; it gave me this: “Flutter like a moth, write like a firefly: illuminating pages, one spark at a time.” Yeah, that’s what I did, illuminate the pages with brilliance.

Abandoned in Duncan, Arizona

Of course, that is a matter of perspective, and in a potential actuality, I may have only dusted the pages with more cobwebs, but who cares? My story feels good to me, most of the time. I fret that coherence is a concept that only ‘real’ authors understand and that my exercise in blathering will ultimately prove to be not much more than the flailing mind of an old man, deluded into believing it was doing something of some importance. Then again, who cares as expectations of others’ reading my tome do not exist. And yes, it will qualify as a tome, having reached 300,000 words already. I’m on a trajectory to match Tolstoy’s War and Peace in terms of length, while the idea of an epic novel might not be realized.

Breakfast at the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Hints of Auguste Escoffier are at work in the kitchen at the Simpson; the chef also wears the hats of a Monet capturing the gardens of Giverny, though Don Carlos shapes his desert environment according to his own whims, just as he does with his culinary creations. Something else to note is that the volume here is turned up as though Balzac were also present, channeling impressions of the politics, philosophy, and culture of modern life in America, contrasted with a time when the sense of savoir-faire ruled social life. Throw in some music from the Pogues, and you will discover more hints of why I come here to write.

Abandoned in Duncan, Arizona

But at the end of the day, I’m still responsible for traveling the lanes through my mind to explore what I can say about the landscapes I’ve been so fortunate to experience. My job, if you could call it that, is to find the astonishing beauty on the paths overlooked, not considered, or forgotten about. I love the places found in between, in the cracks and crevices, under poor illumination, and waiting for those who can appreciate what has always been there in the inherent charm of being alive.

Maybe it wasn’t abundantly clear, but the fog of uncertainty quickly dissipated, and I found my footing. With that, I was able to wrap things up with a solid flourish of productivity, leaving me confident that from where I dropped off my characters, I’ll be able to return to them, pick up their threads, and continue the story after our vacation and its inherent requirements involving blogging and photographic responsibilities.

Word Obsessed in Duncan

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Agate

This throwaway post is only being added to my blog due to the recent dearth of posts. The photo of the agate is absolutely horrible, my apologies. It was taken with my phone in poor light, and no amount of Lightroom surgery could save it. You see, I’m making an effort to backfill something or other so that in the years to come, as I look back to 2025, I can better understand why, in comparison to other years that were filled with various activities, sights, and observations, there were extended periods of nothingness.

Once again, I’d found myself out east in Duncan, Arizona, for a week of working on my novel. My focus has been so keen as not to allow distraction, aside from my crippling weakness that allows conversations to rule my life, at moments, for hours at a time. Other than that, and occasionally watching some stupid streaming short videos, I write with an intention that is admirable (to me), though that comes with no small neglect of everything else; just ask my wife. Fortunately, she’s familiar with these episodes of compulsive behavior/disorder I occasionally exhibit.

My reason for visiting the remote small town of Duncan is to refine my focus and minimize the chance for distraction, which mostly works until moments like this morning when I took the photo of the agate an Austrian professor showed me. He and a couple of traveling companions were scouring the desert and hills of the area, looking for more agates (this one had been purchased from a local rock shop). The guy is also an author of more than a few textbooks about agates and jasper, though geology is not what he teaches. Lucky me, they were in a hurry to get out again so I could return to my matter at hand, writing.

I’m setting this post’s date to January 31st, when I was in Duncan, to update readers of my writing activities, but today, as I’m writing this, it is March 8th. As I said above, this is a backfill. So, what can I tell you? I’m approaching three novels worth of material while believing I’m somewhere between a third and halfway done. Since it is a draft, I’m well aware I might end up paring much during the editing process, but the book currently stands at 707 pages and just under 280,000 words. It has a title, but I’m not ready to share that.

Regarding a completion date, since January 2024 through today, 272 of those 428 days have been spent writing this book, meaning, on average, I write a pittance of only 1029 words a day. If I’m correct about my estimation of its ultimate length, it will take approximately 359 more days of penning the draft before I can turn to editing. Writing this in black and white is a sobering thought, leaving me with questions about my mental health and wondering if I have the endurance to finish such a task.

Alone With Cats in Duncan, Arizona

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

There I was on December 12th, not doing a thing for Caroline’s birthday, when a text from Deborah arrived, asking if we’d be interested in a gratis stay at their fabulous Simpson Hotel in Duncan over Christmas while they’d be away traveling. While the tiny hotel wouldn’t have other guests during our stay, there were a bunch of cats that we were being invited to keep company. Who could resist?

Maliki the Cat at the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

But there was an issue, not an issue regarding Maliki the Cat performing a flying leap into a diorama, but by that date I’d been on the verge of finishing part one of the novel with which I’m threatening the world. That was not really an issue either: the problem truly raised its head when I actually finished said part of my book on the following Thursday, one day before our scheduled departure to Duncan. You see, I would have liked a break from the writing routine, which, at that point, was pressing into the 45th consecutive day of intense wordsmithing. On Friday, December 20th for those who are curious, we left for Duncan, the home of the Simpson Hotel and refuge where Maliki, among other felines, resides. And while I penned not a thing all day Friday, I couldn’t face spending a week in Duncan, where I typically find an incredible focus to go further with words, without at least attempting to keep the fire going; thus I had to give up the idea of taking an extended break from my self-imposed toil of keeping my nose to the grindstone.

Ranch House Restaurant in Duncan, Arizona

When Saturday morning rolled around, I took up my traditional spot in the parlor, resigned to the idea I would write. The empty page was emblazoned with the words “Part Two” and nothing else. I could still see the riveting beginning of part one, which I’d love to tell you about, but that would obviously arrive with spoilers, so that’s a no-go. What I will share is that I had this idea that the beginning of part two should also arrive with a zinger of epic proportions. I sat there, stewing in a lukewarm pot of word soup, unable to assemble the overcooked alphabet noodles that would dissolve under my touch before I could string them into words. There was nothing left to do. I would have to tap the literary genius of the “invisible hand” to help me craft a book I’m certain she would not want credit for, well, at least not in this wonky draft state. Upon telling my wife approximately where I was at in the story, she made a suggestion that precisely fit the situation and gave me the push that allowed me to find the onramp to continuing down the story highway.

Woodhouse toad in Duncan, Arizona

You could say that Caroline kissed the frog (or toad in this instance). There I was, a reborn man, and by Saturday evening, I was able to bring 300 words to the page, a solid enough beginning, and by Sunday morning, traction was well established. Over the subsequent days, I didn’t exactly flounder but was operating at marginal capacity, eking out barely 1,000 words a day.

Duncan High School Class of 1964 from Duncan, Arizona

This could have been considered a partial failure, but at least it wasn’t a wash, and sometimes we just have to take the minor wins where we can find them. Then, out of the blue, or might I say, through the flue, a Christmas gift arrived in a dream, not delivered by Santa Claus, but to him, if you consider the idea that I might resemble him to some small degree. I woke before 4:00 from a lucid dream, that inspired me to sit up, grab my phone, and write furiously for the next hour, before I lay back down to continue sleeping. In the morning I transcribed this 1,037-word note that absolutely energized me. It was Saturday again, the day of our return to Phoenix following a walk over to the Duncan High School and another hour of writing in the parlor where, my inspiration still fueled by my dream, I quickly wrote another few hundred words. As for the dream, it’ll be edited and modified for inclusion in the book, should I find a proper place for it. Over the next week, I set into a routine of consistently pushing out more than 3,000 words a day; such was the inspiration from a dream that shook me from slumber at 3:45 on a cold, dark, post-Christmas Day.

Out Duncan Way

JWise Photo of the Day

Looking west near Duncan, Arizona

Behold, the view of indulgence, the image of selfish absorption, the horizon of nothing but self. I was not traveling into the sunset but away from it. This required me to stop, get out of the car, and look back at where I’d come from as I was escaping all other responsibilities to snatch hold of my focus, holding fast to a singular purpose. On my way east into the darkening sky, I was alone and ready to be self-absorbed for days while remaining well aware of my good fortune to have such privilege. Duncan, Arizona, was my destination, and truthfully, this photo was taken with the reluctance that I somehow feel compelled to publish reports on my blog instead of leaving large gaps so that it might appear that nothing is happening out of the ordinary. That impression would be false, as every day is extraordinary when so much time is allocated to exploring some aspect of creativity, love, and dreams.

Bonnie Heather Inn in Duncan, Arizona

My excursion is leading me into a place dwelling inside my head. There are no beer taps or pool tables to be found there, though they could be manifested if the story required such props. I’m at the edge of New Mexico to explore pages that are yet empty, awaiting the tippity-tappity click-click of chicklet keys recording strings of letters being telegraphed to fingers that do the bidding of throwing down words that might one day find their way into someone else’s eyes and mind.

This photo is from inside the Bonnie Heather Inn, which, in all the years of our visits in and through Duncan, has not once been open, but today, it sees the light of day. I suppose that, in a sense, it is like the brain hiding a book, painting, or composition within it until the door is ready to be opened. As I set out on a morning walk, a delivery truck was parked next to the building; the front door was open, which was my invitation to walk into this relic that had been sitting quietly for so long. The proprietor shared how they’d sold the River Front Lodge on the opposing corner and would be opening this place on a more frequent basis. So, while it appeared long abandoned, the saloon/bar/inn is still active and ready to welcome celebrants.

Dry bed of the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

Since mid-June, the novel I’ve been crafting/sculpting/expelling has been on hold; maybe it appeared abandoned. It was not because my fountain of blathering had run dry like the bed of the Gila River in this photo. On the contrary, I still wrote with raging intensity, but instead of adding two more novels worth of material to my draft, I posted two more novels worth of musings here on my blog in the form of travel missives.

This update is my unenthusiastic attempt at dropping breadcrumbs, while my preference would be to maintain a singular concentration on my novel now that I’ve dipped back into the flow. My visit to Duncan was meant to push into high gear the kind of persistence of vision that allows absolute intensity to be given to my pursuit of authorship, and it worked.

View north from Skyline Drive in Duncan, Arizona

After days with my head in the clouds of drifting storylines, I was ready to return to the loving arms of Caroline in Phoenix, though the embrace of my characters is also a fun place to be. As a note to myself, I came back around to my evolving manuscript on Monday, November 4th, with some anxiety because, after opening it for the first time in 143 days, I felt lost and somewhat unfamiliar for the better part of a day as I tried finding the storyline. First, I read a paragraph or two to find myself, but that wasn’t enough. I then attempted going back a few pages, looking for a thread, before I remembered to just put down any word, and the rest would follow.

Farthest Drive of My Lifetime

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Our odometer after an 11,000-mile drive from Phoenix, Arizona to Newfoundland, Canada

Yesterday was the completion of an epic 36-day adventure that had me embark on the longest drive of my life at a total of 11,040 miles (17,767 km) across Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, Massachusetts, Maryland, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. Over the course of this vacation, I ended up sharing some 63,500 words and 849 photos, though I wouldn’t get caught up until October 21st when the last vacation post was written, and I started this recap.

The highlights and major points along the way were as follows: Caroline at the airport, endless fields of corn, Bocce Club pizza in Buffalo, surprise airshow, Caroline won a huipil, speedboat and boating on the St. Lawrence River, lighthouses, Fort Ticonderoga, Green Mountain Spinnery, lobster rolls, waterways, the seashore, cairns, ferries, friendly Canadians, sunsets, bridges, coffee, rain, roadside fruit and veggies, beachcombing, flying a kite, our pillows, Bay of Fundy, apples, Fritos, sunrise, moss, lichen, islands, fishing villages, trails, Balancing Rock, Kejimkujik National Park, old security guard, Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Peggy’s Cove, Damson plums, beef jerky, Cape Breton Highlands National Park, beavers, fens (bogs), soft serve, maple walnut ice cream, waterfalls, rocks, thrombolites, yarn, Tablelands at Gros Morne National Park, caribou, partridgeberries, reflective ponds, the colors of fall, cod tongues and seal meat, causeways, Terra Nova National Park, forest walks, Muskoka chairs, ruffled grouse, butterflies, mushrooms, flowers, foxes, UNESCO Geosites, wild blueberries, fossils, Mistaken Point, oatcakes, Eastern Hyper-Oceanic Barrens, tiny cottages, covered bridges, narrow roads, signs for moose, and more lobster rolls.

After 58 days of traveling and writing, this block of my life dedicated to such an extraordinary experience moves into the past. I’m happy it does, as I’m a bit depleted trying to write anything else describing things encountered in America and Canada. I need a break from all things vacation, so much so that we are canceling a planned Thanksgiving tradition of traveling to Oregon. Now for something completely different.