Diary of a Writer On The Road: Day Last, Billy and me...

D.C. was AMAZING... So much history to absorb, and you're talking to a girl who digs biography in all it's various forms (paticularly, lately, the scathing stuff you can find online in blogs that make you laugh while you learn).

Fabio, easily bored an not liking the way the wind mussed with his lovely locks as we wandered about chilly DC, left us early on to find a goddess of lesser years for whom he could whip out his "not butter" lines and then sweep off to paradise--since I married my very own Italian hero, the Fabster's lisp is no longer this romance addicts idea of a life-long converation partner (or other types of partnering my G-rated journal has censored out).

Rob T. (said "Thomas" was feeling too juvenile as he was surfed the backseat of my sensible roadtrip car with an aging romance writer at the wheel and even more advanced in years cover model riding shotgun) wanted to kick up his heels and party a bit, so off he went to do all the St. Patricks Day things that growing up in Savanah burned out of my system years ago.

Blissfully alone at last (my natural state as an aging romance writer ;O), I struck out to search for what would be my central memory from this trip to our nation's captial. My mind takes snapshots more than my camera these days. I'm breathing in ideas and colors and textures that will feed the creativity that runs on empty all too soon, and stopping long enough to preserve the moment on film ruins the effect somehow.

I've seen so much beauty this weekend, both in the trees blooming up and down the mall and in the National Gallery, which dominated my time much more than expected. Paitings by Degas and Monet have long fed my mind's eye, as have Hissam's and Casset's...but did you know Degas was also a sculptor, among so many other things? He sculpted privately and showed only one piece, choosing for his medium wax and clay so he could constantly remold and reposition and add the effect of movement that he captures so amazingly in his paintings. There's an entire gallery in D.C. devoted to the pieces found in his studio after his death, amazing work that he did purley for his own benefit as he played with and explored ideas for other projects. Sculpture he never cared if anyone saw, and even less what others would think in response.

Let me just say, lesson learned, my friends, on the spot. Yes, I'm an entrepreneur in the business of publishing, but I'm also an artist. I have to put the business aside sometimes and give myself the gift of viewing the work of more visual artists, or tuning in to hear the lovely notes of T and others, or stopping and taking in nature's simple beauty (of course Fabio came along on this trip for more than eye-candy, but I'm not a fool!). I have to remember that artists CAN'T take all their cues from what sells and what others like. They have to learn an grow and develop an ever-changing perspective that's uniquely their own, or sooner or later they'll be simply phoning in cardboard copies of their original inspiration.

I want to be the type of artist that holds onto a piece of what I do that the world never sees. I want to keep going back to reshape and rethink and refine what is only for me. I want to explore for the sake of learning, not just to drill for new ideas I can sell. And I want to trust that all this will find it's way into the impact of my work on the world that experiences it, because I've kept searching for excactly what's trying to be said despite me getting in the way.

So, that's what I'm taking away from DC. Not so much the history or the patriatism, (Though I scooted by the Lincoln Memorial on the way out of town this morning. Standing close enough you feel like you could touch Lincoln's face, all the while his statue looms as big as the world, his Gettysburge and 2nd Inaugural Addresses framing the moment like historical bookends, you want to both clap and cry for all the men of his time did for each and every one of us). But also the inspiration to be more than myself, and to keep going back to the well until I learn to let go and let what I'm meant to in. The challenge to create what I alone can bring to this world, because I'm committed to refining what that is until I get it right. Same as our founding fathers did, come to think of it ;O)

Fabio's off to Europe with some richy-rich countess he met by the indoor pool. Rob T.'s had it with me and all my internal, angsty stuff. Hooked up with some local bands, he's happily playing pub circut and crooning for his supper. Billy's my sidekick on the trip back to lovely Georgia. Mr. Joel's greatest hits are how my husband wooed me in college, so it's only fitting that volumes 1-3 take me home to the dh. And since the man's body of work is varied enough they were able to pull together a Broadway musical from his tracks alone (tell me someone else out there has seen Moving Out!), I'm happily in the presence of genius for the next several hundred miles.

Hope you're having a LOVELY weekend. Next Friday, let's talk about Lori Handeland's latest Super, The Mommy Quest. If you haven't bought it yet, get it!!! The woman's better at creating riveting characters and turning a phrase than most in our business. It's either talk about Lori's book or a biography of Degas that I also read over the weekend (while I was supposed to be writing my own Super, mind you). And I figure you guys have swallowed enough chit chat about fine art for a week or so ;O)

Have a great rest of your weekend!!