Fellow lovers of the written word,

 

I'm feeling particularly vulnerable today, which I think is always a good time to send you a note. If I'm not cracking open my ribs and giving you my whole heart, then what's the point? 

 

My new novel is coming alive in my head, and boy is it unlike anything I've ever tackled before. Things can always change, but it looks like I'll be using two points of view, two time periods, and two tenses. As if that wasn't enough, one of the POVs is female. I love a good challenge, but what in the world am I thinking?

 

Get this… one of the time periods is Victorian England.

 

Here's how much I know about Victorian England: nada, zilch, nil.

 

Before I started my research a few weeks ago, I didn't even know why it was called Victorian England. (Am I the only one?) Here's a hint: The queen at the time was Victoria.

 

In over my head yet? Yeah. But two James Patterson novels come to mind. I can't remember the titles as I read them many years ago, but one featured characters with wings and the other was set in Medieval England. This is a guy who was mostly writing crime novels. Aside from the fact that he might be the most successful writer alive and clearly has some serious talent, my take is that anything is possible. 

 

So, unless I start on the Victorian bits and feel like it's not working, you're gonna get one story set in Winchester, UK in 1881. No, I'm not going in blind-folded. My desk is cluttered with Victorian-era books, both fiction and non-fiction. Next month, I'm traveling to Winchester (where Jane Austen is buried) for research. And I'm constantly consuming shows like The Forsyte Saga, Gosford Park, and even the new Enola Holmes movies, which are highly enjoyable. 

 

Much to my family's chagrin, I'm stepping into character and often speaking in my best Victorian English accent. One of the gentlemen in The Forsyte Saga uses the term “old girl” when he refers to his wife. I guess that was a thing back then. I tried it on my wife a few times. (Hey, old girl, how about we take the carriage into town?) It doesn't seem to spark joy in her. In fact, I'm pretty sure she will slap me if I try it again. Do you see the risks I'm willing to take to entertain you?

 

I'm certainly nervous and a little fearful, but also incredibly fired up to push myself with this novel. I'm deep into the World Cup journey (I wept like a child during the Argentinian match yesterday), and I've heard a few lovely tidbits about pressure. The announcers like to talk about the relationship players have with pressure and how the best of the best embrace it. Two phrases stuck in my head:

 

 

and 

 

 

Pressure is a privilege. I particularly like that one. You, my friends, give me the privilege of writing for a living, doing what I believe I'm meant to be doing. And I feel it is my duty to give my all to each book, every last ounce of me, taking chances instead of settling into some kind of proven method and spitting out cookie-cut stories that lack the magic. That means I'm going to often free fall into scary territory. But isn't the free fall the best part?

 

My favorite quote of all time is by Terence McKenna:

 

 

If that doesn't set your day straight, I don't know what will. “The shamanic dance in the waterfall…” I get chills every time.

 

So yes, I feel the pressure of expectation, both from you and from myself. And it is a great privilege to which I will lean into with all of me.

 

Right now, I'm working on two outlines, one for each time period. Once I have those down as best as I can, then it's on to writing. Sometimes the outlines stand strong and sometimes I cast them aside. More than anything, I'm opening myself up to my characters now and seeing what stories they want to tell.

Costa Rica was a pleasure, by the way. We spent a week in Guanacaste, including a few days in Tamarindo. My son caught the surf bug while I tried to rekindle my long-boarding skills (no, it wasn't pretty.) The part that takes some getting used to is the American crocodiles that linger in the river mouth not too far from the surf break. No worries, no one has been attacked since 2016. Isn't that comforting? Robert August, the long-boarding master who dazzled in the best surf movie ever made, The Endless Summer, walked right by us as we enjoyed tacos by the beach. I was too stunned to even say hi. 

 

Most importantly, I recaptured my youth down there and reconnected with my wife and son on such a beautiful level. No work, no responsibilities. Just a whole lot of smiles and fun with the two humans who matter most to me in the world.

 

The filterless picture below is from Tamarindo Beach. The receding tide leaves these marks in the sand everywhere, a giant forest of trees painted by the sea. Is nature not the best artist?

 

Thanks for letting me share. You mean the world to me.

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