A couple of weeks ago a section of my novel-in-progress disturbed me so much I was weeping profusely. Those shed tears are long gone, for the chapter I’m working on now makes me want to snatch out papers, wad them into big balls and do a slam-dunk into the nearest trash can! Pitiful. Boring. Flat. Uninteresting. Won’t work. Doesn’t make sense.
So . . . I told Jerry I was leaving. Grabbed my camera, a short grocery list, letters for the post office, and a stuffed bear I had rooted around and found in the upstairs bedroom where the grandkids sleep when they visit. He might be a model for my shoot . . . at the very least he would comfort me, sitting obediently by my side as I tore out of our driveway.
Camp Seeley is two or three miles from our house. Just outside the entrance to the camp runs Seeley Creek. When I arrived there I found this.