From Cranky Rah's Cave: New Writing Digs

I'm pretty sure it was Tennyson who wrote, "in the spring a cranky Rah's fancy frantically turns to thoughts of getting the heck out of Dodge." Or something like that.

In any event, it's true: When the weather starts to get nicer, I want to be free. Free! I want to shake the dust of this heavily scheduled life and go somewhere—and not always Scotland, by the way. (Okay, always Scotland, but Rah is reasonable. Rah is rational. Rah knows that she must be way, way richer before she can go always to Scotland.)

This summer has turned out to be a little more heavily scheduled so far than Rah would like it to be, but the Poet-Accountant, Ruby Hazelnut and I did manage to get away for a few days to the beautiful Shenandoah National Park in western Virginia—where, between hiking and horseback riding, I managed to do a little real estating.

I like my cave, but one never wants to get too...cave-bound, you know. One must emerge occasionally from the cave to see what other caves there are out there.

Now, Luray Caverns had a really lovely spot. Lovely lighting; not too cool, but definitely not hot. Internet connectivity might be an issue, but I'm pretty sure I could run a line down.

There was one insurmountable problem, though: dealing with unwelcome visitors. Something like 400,000 people tromp through there each year, which is like 399,999 too many for me.

Next, I thought Why not think outside the cave? Maybe there are other options, some of which don't involve massive quantities of vitamin D to prevent rickets. (Some people say you should suffer for your art, but that's not the kind of suffering I'm into.)

Anyway, so we hiked up the strangely named Hawksbill Mountain (isn't it the case, the Poet-Accountant asked, that hawks have beaks and not bills?) to see what kind of residential opportunities there were at 4,050 feet.

At first I thought, Man, I could totally get into writing up here. The problem? Way too much vitamin D. You've seen my skin, right? I seriously don't want to end up with lobster skin that clashes with my hair. So far, we have rickets versus cancer. Not a pretty choice.

I figured that was it; There's no place like home. A cave in need is a cave indeed and all that. Then we went on our final hike. And there it was! The cave of all caves! Rah's new writing digs!

Do you see it there, tucked under that massive boulder? I'm telling you, this place has everything. Fresh water, a nice sunny spot above (take that, vitamin D deficiency!) and an impenetrable driveway:

Just the place to retreat to while doing that most horrifying of things: querying agents. Gulp.

Tree Climbing!

Note to self: Always choose to write books that involve fun research. Like going to Scotland. Or dating rock stars. Or climbing trees.

Okay, Cranky Rah has never actually dated a rock star, but two out of three ain't bad. I had a lovely morning out in a local park with Ruby Hazelnut, one-third of The Three and my best rock climbing buddies. And the Poet-Accountant, who preserved the moment in pictures.

The beautiful red oak we climbed.

The lovely ropes and knots that keep us safe.

Hooking on the foot ascender, because climbing
with only your arms is hard.

Ruby Hazelnut gets ready to climb.

Ruby Hazelnut doing some branch walking.

Cranky Rah and one-third of The Three hanging out.
The fabulous S served as one of my beta readers for the book involving tree climbing,
and when I came down from my first climb I said, "I'm going to have to totally rewrite that chapter."
S's response? "Yeah, you are."
This is why we research. And have beta readers who will tell you the truth.

Cranky Rah, looking not so cranky. Because, hey, rewrites are fun. (And no, I'm not lying. I love to edit.)

About 50 feet up. Do I have to come down?
Can't someone just send up some tea and shortbread?