Ernest Hemingway once wrote somewhere that he liked to warm up before writing novels and stories by writing ten or so simple declarative sentences. He didn’t say if they were fiction or nonfiction sentences. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
I want to warm up this morning by writing some simple declarative sentences before I start in on a story. Their subject is an impromptu and grand hike I took with friends a couple days ago.
We walked an old logging trail into a federal wilderness area.
The wilderness was the result of an old man who loved the area.
Mist drifted through the forest.
Wind whipped the tree tops.
I wore my pea coat.
My friends toked out.
One friend gathered lichen.
We would later drink hot sake with the lichen.
I saw a slug.
We marveled at the Oregon grape and bent hemlock branches.
The road ended at a rocky top.
There would have been a fine view of the hills and ocean had not fog obscured it.
This place had the feel of a fort.
Many years ago, men manned this fort looking for Japanese planes that might bomb Oregon.
I imagined they were always drunk while on duty.
I often feel lucky to have such friends as these two.
As we talked, I pitched ideas to them for a new novel.
I often feel lucky to live on the Oregon Coast.
On the way back, I picked up beer cans.
I also found an old flyswatter placed in a tree branch.
A flyswatter there made no sense.
It must be a clue to some kind of crime or foraging expedition.