INDIAN HILL

The day starts out late , around 8:00 AM.  Coffee, the newspapers, Los Angeles Times, New York Times, checking emails, Facebook, Twitter, looking for something to get excited about. I’ve been working pretty good on my novel this week and last night around 10:30 I’m exhausted, my eyelids closing while I’m reading ‘Hong Kong’ by Stephen Coonts (it’s my first ‘Jake Grafton’ novel that I’ve read by thrill-master Coonts and it’s pretty good) and I’m re-thinking the scene I’m working on in the novel---I think I have the way to end it. Got it, I’m thinking, then considering whether to open up the computer again (it’s getting late and I’m already tired) but no, leave it for today and end it up when I’m fresh. But I’m not fresh. Coffee and the newspapers and computer and emails and web-surfing only put me in that never-land; mid-day blues thinking it’s either nap time, go-out-to-lunch-time, get-out-of-the-house-at-all-costs-time, hit email refresh over and over until someone c

Morning in the Snake River canyon. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point I realized my life was following patterns; places I was living, things I’d do, people I’d meet, opportunities I followed. And so it went. Jackson Hole, Colorado, Southern California. Not everything went according to plan. There were heartbreaks, big ones, little ones, inconsequential ones and ones I made up to prevent myself from changing and compromising. More about that? No. Not now. In my mind I’d string together great thoughts about the reasons certain things were happening. My first radio job, getting into cable television, why I had to go to Colorado and the disasters that broke my spirit for a while. Getting down into Southern California thrust me into a culture of entertainment. Many of the cable networks had major offices there, and I did some work on live television producing and hosting shows featuring actors, athletes, politicians, and went on to co-host a show for the Lo