The first chance I got to write, I went out of my way to Mandolin Books in an older area of town. I had done a lot of writing there during National Novel Writing Month last year and knew it was a great place to write. Way in the back, surrounded by nonfiction books is an old nineteen fifties kitchen table - the kind with the chrome trim around the table top and shiny tube legs that all meet in the center underneath.
To the left of the table is a bank of windows where plenty of diffused morning light warms your work area. Whenever you need a break, it's just a matter of standing up, stretching and reaching for one of the used books on a nearby shelf. Looking for inspiration or simply diversion? Behind where I sit are two shelves of travel books and I enjoy spending a few minutes every hour idly leafing through them.
The front of the establishment is busy with locals meeting over coffee and tea or quietly reading the paper while the street out front is clogged with commuters on their way downtown. Going up front for a refill, I never have to worry about my personal items since I'm the only one in the back. I can leave my IPAD and keyboard just where they are and quickly get back to typing with a hot ceramic mug of java beside me.
It should come as no surprise that I'm writing about a subject I'm very familiar with: the Kettle Valley Railway. I thank my friend Roy for introducing me to this this abandoned railway and I've had ten years and twelve trips of memories to write about.
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