Since about April of 2007 there has been one thing I've really wanted to do. Unfortunately, my financial situation and other responsibilities preclude this from actually occurring. But for the sake of dreaming the impossible, here goes...
Imagine a large, rustic yacht peacefully floating in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Italy. The sun's light is bright, warm, and so inviting. No one is on the vessel with you, save for the ghosts of your favorite authors--and they only through the myraid books surrounding you. What ghosts might these be, you ask? Well Charles Dickens to be sure, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Agatha Christie, Watchman Nee, Brother Lawrence, and for good measure Stephen King. I'm sure many have been left off of this list, but rest assured, no one would be forgotten on the actual journey. The only supplies you have on board with you are a bit of parchment and a quill (we're going old school, here). If you can't write under these circumstances, you are no writer!
In contrast, my current location is a large Victorian house in rural Indiana. The only body of water around belongs to a paper mill, and I have to drive 30 minutes to find a library. Ah...the life.
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