cowhand classic at the chuckwagon


It was a cold morning as I remember it. The snow outside had settled but the wind was a brutal son of a bitch, carrying ice and desert snow along the highway in heavy waves. Wrecks began to build along Interstate-80 between Cheyenne and Laramie as they so often do when the weather has gone all to hell. Happy Jack Road was a winding column of black ice, with no one upon it as happy as the road itself. Thanksgiving passed with the regular hitches and full bellies. The Cornish hens tasted phenomenal and I’ve never had a bad thing to say about garlic butter biscuits.
 The Sunday before returning to work was a sad day as it so often is. No more late sleeping, back to the bump and grind to someone else’s lousy rhythm in an office high in the sky. That’s the day I’m telling you about.

When I pulled myself outta bed I stretched lazily, trying to unbuckle the sodding nerve trapped somewhere in my neck between my shoulder and my metal ear. I didn’t prosper in my attempt, the infernal thing is plaguing me still. Jack had started the coffee pot as soon as he roused and the smell, though I don’t drink the stuff, was welcoming. He usually always gets up before me. I’m lazy as a retired bloodhound truth be known and weekends are for sleeping. We sat for a while in front of the tv while I tried to catch up on my knitting projects and Jack nursed his Arbuckle’s. It was probably King of the Hill we were watching or some form of Disney Imagineering documentary. Regular old pair of boots we are, and antisocial.

The night before we’d discussed trying to grab breakfast at the Chuckwagon, a local mom and pop place on the outskirts of town with peculiar working hours, to which we struggle to abide. Several times we’ve endeavored to go for lunch or dinner only to find it closed before seeing hide or hair of 2pm in the afternoon. However, it being the Lord’s Day to laugh, it was open around 7am ready for the church rush. Thus we ventured into the snow and got the car out of the garage, hungry as London paupers.
It’s a great place for a writer camp with a cup of coffee, if they drink it, or an unsweet ice tea in my case; to write the next bestseller about some fella with a hitch in his step and an ugly wife that feeds the cows in her birthday suit during the dead of winter. The place has character and a cozy little ambience about it. I wish it was open more often and that I had the freedom to go and write at a favorite table as a first name basis regular, however, unless I become a full time paid writer within the next few months I don’t see it happening. Never say never and never say die… unless you put it in a poem.

I ordered the cowhand classic breakfast with scrambled eggs, a griddle loved pancake and seasoned hash browns with a tall iced tea full of ice. Now the bacon was almost a little too sweet for me personally but it’s tough to compare to the Jalapeno bacon I cook at home. The eggs and the pancake were nevertheless on point. We sat at our table talking about buffalo Bill and what errands we needed to run that day – I probably mentioned Calamity Jane too as I’m apt to do. We got excited about our upcoming travels and a potential get away to Deadwood in the spring. About us were good o’l boys reminiscing about girls they loved and hardworking sons moving into the family business, they hovered over their coffee mugs like gummy vultures trying to chew a tough steak. I half expected Craig Johnson to walk on in and sit by the window. He didn’t.

A few authors say that if you wait for conditions to be prime before you write, you’ll never say a word. I guess I’m the lonesome exception. I truly struggle to write at home unless I am alone. I can write for 8 hours a day at work and feel accomplished and know I’ve done well. Whereas if I stay home, not only do I have distractions and things I feel must get done, but it’s harder to get into the mindset. At work I write to drown out the everyday office scenario but I need to buck up. I have to set aside a little time each week to force myself to also write at home whether I’m with Jack or not. After all that’ll be where I write my other novels if ever one sells. Having said that, as long as something is written I shan’t complain.

I hope December finds you well my friends.
Be HAPPY.
Be Great.
Create.

Your keeper, 
Bella.

novel idea

I was going to start by saying that winter is almost upon us in Wyoming, but it’d be a bald faced lie.
The snow has been yo-yoing worse than a cheap whore lately and it’s hard to plan for weather that can’t decide what the fuck it’s doing, but welcome to the West. It feels strange that we’ve already been living here for nearly three months.


I’ve applied for some hours at an equestrian centre that I’m hoping to hear from this week, and I really hope I can get some barn chore hours during the weekend. I’m made for tough graft not so much office lazing, I detest being kept inside and staring a screen for 80% of my week. Unfortunately I had to give up my little job at the antique place because I won’t be around in the holiday season and I can’t really be depended to work every weekend where I have to interact with people professionally.  A horse place I can handle, because I figure they’ll be more like me here… with any luck.  Its not a huge loss because it wasn’t supposed to be a long term thing, i only wanted a bit of income until i found something full time.


I’ve also been spending a lot of time working on my novel that I was supposed to try and finish this year, but I ended up falling a little behind. Right now I’m scouting around for possible literary agents that might enjoy my work but that’s slightly tedious as I know what I write is very good, but I don’t know that an agent will but I suppose we’ll see what it brings. I realize I’ll be facing a shite tone of rejections and it can take years before books get published, but all the more time to improve I suppose. Lately I’ve just been feeling the inspiration I was been lacking in New England so my fingers are truly growing numb with considering how much write  (hand write + type) when I should be working. I do my job but when there’s nothing else on my agenda I will write. Some days, much like today, I had nothing to do and wrote from 8am till around 4.30pm or whenever I’ll finish revising this blog draft. And realized something, something it’s taken years for me to realize. I am born to tell stories; whether it is on stage with an audience or whether it is through poetry and prose. It doesn’t matter. I have often imagined the life of a writer and what it’s like. The more I write and force myself to make time for it the more I realize that that’s for the life of me. I can be anywhere in the world and I can tell a story. Every day around 8:30am I do my writing exercise and each becomes a beautiful little prose of unimpeded emotion that needed to be filtered from my heart in order to make more progress with the main works. I’ve actually been toying with the idea of creating a little book of all my small exercise pieces, however as you can imagine I have many ideas in the works as I always am apt and so nothing will probably become of any. That’s fine, at least I bled to try.

I don’t know what the future will bring, and I don’t know that right now that’s so very important to me – what’s important is what we’re doing now. Planning trips to deadwood, guest ranches, Denmark and planning weekends at home with pizza, historical documentaries and picture editing. Don’t get me wrong I have an outline of things I’d like to do. Hopefully I’ll be taking a class at the University and in the spring I’ll be applying to attend the school of horseshoeing in Cheyenne. I genuinely hope this can come to fruition but it depends a lot on saving up the funds in time. I don’t even know that I’ll be good at it, but I want to give it a try as I’ve done everything else that interested me up till now. So I’m not about to stop learning and doing new things.  Besides I’m still holding on to that dream of my own farm with a horse shoeing station in the barn and a view of Nevada or Texas or even Wyoming outside the rolling door. Its right there next to the tall ship dream but whichever one comes is more than welcome, but for right now I’m living the cowboy life and it mostly feels like a dream.

I think for now that’s enough from me.

side tracked

I haven’t been side tracked, but the blog has been put on the proverbial burner — something you probably figured considering i neglected to write for over a month.
As of late everything has been slowly falling into place. Most of my days i spend writing. Last week i managed to get through the parts of my novel that were a mystery to me for so long and had proven bothersome —  now i’m on the home stretch.  I can see the end and i’m full of beans, high as a kite, bright eyed and bushy tailed, whatever it is positive people spout when life gives them a break in the dark.
When i haven’t been writing and working 8 to 5, we’ve been enjoying having our evenings + weekends back now that i finished drivers ed. Thus far we’ve been knocking things off our to-do list consistently since we’ve arrived in Wyoming.  This weekend we’ve been out mustang chasing, photographing and caring for a wounded bird that curled up by our back door Saturday morning.  The bird issue was NOT on my list however– surprisingly  when we took it to the vet they refused to help us and animal control/wildlife centers are closed during weekends. Thus it fell to us to put the birds leg into a splint with antibiotics, and it seems to be much better this morning. With any luck it’ll have wind beneath its wings as soon as possible. Hopefully we can keep it comfortable as possible without stressing the shit out of it.
Anyway I guess you can assume that life is pretty great, or gone to all kinds of hell, when i’m not blogging. Nevertheless  i should attempt to remember to write when things go well, and not just when i’m in the mood for an unmerciful diatribe at the expense of some ignorant fool who was brave enough to cross me.

But i digress and this blogpost is finished.

Adieu.

In a desert amongst the American mustangs with my books on my mind, and food.

our first month

We’ve officially been here a month as of last week, and it’s already been one hell of a ride.
It’s been wonderful. Scary. Stressful x 10. Hard. Exhausting. But we’re here and we’re making it work. Many things have  happened already.
So in it’s honour — the anniversary of yet another big adventure —  here is a minefield of pictures from our first month back in the West.