After spending a few days on a mini-honeymoon following my marriage I do’s last week (actually, being a catholic wedding, there were several yes’s, but I am assured as a non-catholic, that the end result is the same), I have discovered something as a truth in regards to writing that I had stubbornly dismissed previously. I have a tendency to dismiss the things that I wish were false, or that I am too lazy to do, not motivated to accomplish, and etcetera.
I have a natural inclination to avoid disruption to routine, which is one reason why I am thirty-five and newly married for the first time (great woman to put up with me, by-the-by). Travel is part of the routine breaking that I have always tried to avoid. As a writer, I have told myself that travel is not necessary, even if I want to write about far away places. It is unrealistic to travel to every locale that appears in fiction. Besides, there is always local flavor to fall back on as well as a wealth of research to fall back on in libraries and on the internet.
Yes. Research is important. Writing what you know is, well, a tired but true statement, if somewhat constrained by an overly literal translation by most. All that being said, there is nothing like physically walking a street and smelling the air, interacting with the people who level in that land of ‘away’, as we say in Maine.
So. Quebec City was amazing and foreign, though only a five hour drive from the coast of Maine. It was experience and folks, there is nothing that trumps experience. Get while you can. Of course, I might need to add a disclaimer to the end of this piece as I am still giddy from my nuptials and, well, cough… I was on my honeymoon. Quebec was great but, maybe I didn’t experience as much of the city as I could have in the three days I was there. It’s a start, though.