Back in my early 20’s, when I worked summers as a back country wilderness guard on the Flat Tops Wilderness, I would leave school in Gunnison and head far above Meeker before the snow in the high country really had a chance to melt. My first couple trips “up top” often were accompanied by a pair of old nordic skis and camping out at night was an exercise in finding either a place in the sprouting grass that was dry enough that I would not float away in my sleep or better hoping that the temperatures would dip down below freezing early enough that I would not need to bail out the bottom of my bivy.
Needless to say I spent a lot of time uncomfortable and wet during those early spring days. But year after year I kept coming back, asking to start before anyone else did. First because I usually needed the money. But second because I wanted to be there when the spring time erupted in the high country.
The discomforts and even risks of early spring in the Colorado high country are still of little concern when you compare them to the amazement you will experience as glacier lilies pop up through the crust in their little self heated snow wells.
Right now I’m reading a very good how-to book titled Write, Publish, Repeat. Its basic premise is that I, yes even me, can make a living by self-publishing. That has been my intent since I started writing (and taking care of Aral) full time. Grinding.
So far, I’m only 12% through the Kindle version of the book, and I’m reading the whole thing. There isn’t a lot of advice yet other than the fact that the authors have correctly identified me as a candidate for the business. That is good news since I’ve already self-identified this way. One of the key elements of success that they describe is that you need to write … a lot.
“Success comes from hard work and the accumulation of small numbers. Unlike yesterday, today’s prosperity can bloom from continuous intelligent production. For the first time in history, life as a full-time writer has become about simple math.”
This gives me hope, two stories out on KDP now and more on the way. I feel like its the end of June and I’ve just walked into an alpine field where only a couple of Columbine blossoms float above a vast sea of green sedges and stone crop. I know that those early stars of lavender and white herald the impending blossom explosion that I’ll necessarily need to wade through the next time I pass through this field. Just keep writing (and editing, and illustrating) and eventually my sleeping bag is going to dry out.