The Sound of Silence
I turned thirty a couple weeks before my book was published. To mark the occasion, my wife booked us into a small wood cabin for a couple nights just outside of Mendocino (approx. three and a half hours north of San Francisco).
While the trip was primarily to celebrate my birthday, it was also used as something of an escape from everything that has been happening (and continues to happen) surrounding the book. I’m not at all ashamed to admit that we never actually went into Mendocino proper while we were there; we were quite happy in our little cabin, thank you very much.
Despite being situated just off a small road, the woods surrounding the cabin were silent apart from the sounds of nature lurking within. It was our sanctuary. When I wasn’t building up the log burning stove (and on occasion, dangerously overpacking it) I was simply staring in and around the cabin, opening up its windows and sticking out my head. The cabin was everything. The silence was everything. Everything, and nothing.