Well I've started submitting my book for publishing. Unfortunately, Pantera press rejected my book. I wasn't confident, I was certain, 'cause confidence is for people who aren't allready sure.
Now Pulp Fiction Press has my work, and I'm waiting for the good news.
On another topic, I've joined two writing websites, called Thumbscribes and Wattpad, and I like them both.
I'm working on getting a job, so if any of my whole one reader knows of any openings in the Brisbane area, let me know (and if you see this gen, just ignore it.)
Well, till next time bloggers, arrivederci
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Last Day
I couldn't believe it had finally come to this. We were woken up at 8 the next morning, after another late night outside in the snow, with no sign of the Northern Lights I had come so far to see. The morning began as usual, though I was filled with an unending sense of trepidation and...nervousness, I suppose, knowing that, after today, I most likely would never see my five wonderful dogs again.
We set the harnesses, as usual, and took off on the trail. The most memorable element of that last day was definitely the cold. It had been cold all week, but then, after the fresh snowfall the night before and the sky swept into a clean and shining cerulean blue that stretched from horizon to horizon, there were no clouds to keep the heat in, and the meagre yet glorious sunlight there on the roof of the world was incapable of warming our freezing bones. The cold winds cut straight through our gloves and parkas and, I'm ashamed to say, I almost couldn't wait to get back inside.
But the cold was a double edged sword, because with the brilliant sun casting its luminescent presence over the snowfields and crystalline forests the entire country sparkled with fairy dust. Particles of snow floated through the air like dust motes, but caught the light like tiny prisms and cast rainbow light amongst the shadows. The snow drifts were pure white and the perfect flatness of Jackson Lake broken only by the trail stretched off into the distance to the towering behemoths reaching for the skies. When we reached the roads and gentle slopes my dogs began to slow, and I was freezing so I leapt from the sled and landed beside them running, racing my beloved companions as far as I could. I know its stupid, but I swear that the second Sage saw me running beside him, he redoubled his efforts, dragging Micki and the others along with him till the sled caught up with me again, forcing me to surrender and dive back on board.
I must admit, despite the piercing, arctic cold and the lack of any colossal slopes or blind, adrenaline filled corners, that last day had something special to it, i think that running beside my dogs was just as much fun as guiding them around the corners and the high ridges, I felt so wild and free, although I think I'm only just realising that now, one year following my spectacular journey.
When we returned to the dogyard I spent an hour saying goodbye to my dogs, hugging them and taking photos to remember them by. Of course they didn't know what was going on, and I doubt they had felt such a connection to me as I did to them, but I like to think that if I went back, they might show just that little bit more excitement than if they were meeting someone new.
With my farewells said, I returned to the lodge and had one last meal with my fellow adventurers, people who, like me, had no interest in following the mainstream snowgoers, the skiiers and the snowboarders down in Whistler. We were different, we wanted something different. I like to think that, in another age, we would have been the explorers seeking out the lost corners and peering into the deep shadows, but in this world all we can do is ride the sled and explore the most untouched, beautiful and pristine lands at the roof of the world the only way it is meant to be seen, without the roar of engines and puff of smoke, only the pitter patter of paws in the snow. I'm back in my own country now, Australia, but I'll always remember the countryside that made me feel like I was home.
We set the harnesses, as usual, and took off on the trail. The most memorable element of that last day was definitely the cold. It had been cold all week, but then, after the fresh snowfall the night before and the sky swept into a clean and shining cerulean blue that stretched from horizon to horizon, there were no clouds to keep the heat in, and the meagre yet glorious sunlight there on the roof of the world was incapable of warming our freezing bones. The cold winds cut straight through our gloves and parkas and, I'm ashamed to say, I almost couldn't wait to get back inside.
But the cold was a double edged sword, because with the brilliant sun casting its luminescent presence over the snowfields and crystalline forests the entire country sparkled with fairy dust. Particles of snow floated through the air like dust motes, but caught the light like tiny prisms and cast rainbow light amongst the shadows. The snow drifts were pure white and the perfect flatness of Jackson Lake broken only by the trail stretched off into the distance to the towering behemoths reaching for the skies. When we reached the roads and gentle slopes my dogs began to slow, and I was freezing so I leapt from the sled and landed beside them running, racing my beloved companions as far as I could. I know its stupid, but I swear that the second Sage saw me running beside him, he redoubled his efforts, dragging Micki and the others along with him till the sled caught up with me again, forcing me to surrender and dive back on board.
I must admit, despite the piercing, arctic cold and the lack of any colossal slopes or blind, adrenaline filled corners, that last day had something special to it, i think that running beside my dogs was just as much fun as guiding them around the corners and the high ridges, I felt so wild and free, although I think I'm only just realising that now, one year following my spectacular journey.
When we returned to the dogyard I spent an hour saying goodbye to my dogs, hugging them and taking photos to remember them by. Of course they didn't know what was going on, and I doubt they had felt such a connection to me as I did to them, but I like to think that if I went back, they might show just that little bit more excitement than if they were meeting someone new.
With my farewells said, I returned to the lodge and had one last meal with my fellow adventurers, people who, like me, had no interest in following the mainstream snowgoers, the skiiers and the snowboarders down in Whistler. We were different, we wanted something different. I like to think that, in another age, we would have been the explorers seeking out the lost corners and peering into the deep shadows, but in this world all we can do is ride the sled and explore the most untouched, beautiful and pristine lands at the roof of the world the only way it is meant to be seen, without the roar of engines and puff of smoke, only the pitter patter of paws in the snow. I'm back in my own country now, Australia, but I'll always remember the countryside that made me feel like I was home.
Day 6 - Valley of Mists
A corny title, I know, but the valley we descended into earned the name. The long stretch allowed us to see directly into the valley itself, only a narrow portion between the trees, but enough. Far away, the distant mountains beckoned, sheer, Olympian peaks ascending from the tree blanketed slopes pointed proudly at heaven, and seperating the peaks and slopes was a straight gash of pure white cloud, like a poor television connection cut through the middle by random static. Then we rounded a bend and the valley was visible only though the ice rimmed forest, leafless trees seemed held up by snow, like frosted crystal formations growing in all directions. Squirrels, black as coal, were occasionally visible dashing from icy stalk to icy stalk, shadowy blurrs at the speed we followed the dogs. Then the path took another turn, taking us back into view of the valley, and pointing us directly downhill again. The beauty of this place seemed magnified by the rushing wind and biting ice, the pad of twenty paws digging into the snow, the drag of sled on ice, the unending magnificence of these frozen peaks again made it seem as though I was caught in a dream, in a world of majesty and diamond dust.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
