I love walking.

I really do.

I try to walk at least once a week, hopefully more.

I don’t think there’s a better thing for me to do for my messy and convoluted mind than walk. It cleans things out up there, calms things down, adds color and vibrancy to my life.

What’s not to like about a good walk? I’m outside. I’m watching the weather, squirrels, slobbering dogs on leashes, leaves rustling, sun rays and sunsets. (Never sunrises. They’re scheduled to arrive too early.)

Sometimes I’m with my friend, Joan, who makes me laugh until I make strange noises.  We often walk at night when it’s good and dark, around and around a lake.  She is clever and insightful. She’s like Erma Bombeck only her name is Joan.

Most of the time,though, I walk by myself. (Joan, alas, cannot always walk every time I want to walk because she has a life and it is a busy one)  I walk in my neighborhood, often to the top of a hill so I can watch the sunset.

I walk in a park near my house because I like the pathways, the willow trees, the stream, and the wetlands.  I walk through Portland sometimes, too, because, for me, it’s like walking through a bombardment of story ideas.

I like the quiet of my walks. I like to think freely. I like to let my mind travel and leap about.

I think about the people in my life, problems I’m dealing with, worries… but I try not to dwell on anything negative for very long. It truly is my goal to  keep my walks peaceful. I’m not always good about this, especially if there is something particularly difficult going on, but it’s my intent to enjoy the walk and deal with all the other crap later.

I think about my books, the characters, the problems I’m having with the plot, the subplots, etc., but a lot of the time I daydream.

I am well past forty, and yes, I still daydream. I remember daydreaming constantly as a kid. I had these huge, active stories going on full blast in my head like 3-D pictures. I had daydreams that would last for weeks or months, that would branch off into this story or that one, down that straight path and around that squiggly one.

Sometimes the daydreams were fun and magical, and sometimes they were real plans for my life.  Not much has changed since I was a kid in that regard.

My daydreaming often leads to ideas for my books.

For example, a walk through a lavender field gave me part of the setting for A Different Kind of Normal. A walk in Welches, Oregon, along a river, gave me the idea for Jeanne Stewart’s naked run. (No, I did not run naked. That would be alarming for all involved.) A walk in Helena, Montana, gave me the setting for my story, A Very Merry Christmas in Holiday Magic. Walking on Orcas Island gave me the setting for Whale Island in Almost Home.

Go walk.

Go daydream.

Just don’t take Joan. I need to hear one of her jokes tonight.