Stories

     I am beginning to realize that I am coming to the end of my novel, one of my reasons for being here in Nome.  I am excited and somewhat terrified at the same time.  A part of me wonders what I'm going to do with myself afterward.  Of course it needs editing, but I'll have to wait at least a few weeks until I have enough distance on it to see it clearly enough to edit.  What'll I do in the meantime?  Start another novel?  It sounds like a scary prospect.  This novel has taken up a huge part of my time and mind for nearly a year, and it was being tumbled through my head as a nugget of an idea, even before that.  On the other hand, it'll be something huge.  This will be the first novel I have finished (the actual first one I worked on was a huge Revolutionary War epic I started in my freshman year of high school that when I look back on it, makes me cringe).
      I think however, that there will ultimately be more stories here in Nome, and Alaska.  Looking out over the sea or the mountains, or into the faces of the people, there's a lot to be said.  And maybe I'll falter trying to tell it, but someone should.  I walked into a shop yesterday, and the keeper, an older gentleman, seemed brimming with stories about not just what he sold, but the land and people too, and individuals in the town.  I almost felt as though he would have much rather me sit there and listen than actually buy anything.  He complained that the literature written about the region was usually full of mistakes, penned by people who had never even set foot or opened a single book about it.  He seemed glad that I was there, like he trusted me to be accurate.  I hope I am.
     The sunsets here are quite possibly the most beautiful I have ever seen on the planet, including the islands of the Pacific.

On another note, I can see the sea ice approaching.  It is collecting on the horizon.