The life of a writer is pretty boring…

I’ve been sitting here, staring at a blank posting screen for a wee bit of time, now. I’ve been contemplating what to write about.

I could spout out a quick update, but all that’s gonna do is tell you that I’m still reading the same book about Harrison County, Iowa that I have been reading for weeks, but you already know about that.

I could tell you that I’ve spent the first part of my day working on my presence around the internet. I’ve added Google+ and changed the URL for Tumblr — links can be found on this pageBut, as you can see, that won’t take up very much space or time at all.

Then, I thought, I could tell you about the delicious pork roast I made last night in honor of national hot chocolate day.

I put 1 teaspoon of sea salt and 5 whole cloves in my spice grinder okay, it’s a coffee grinder. I turned it to powder and dumped it into a small bowl. I added 1 teaspoon each coriander, ginger, and pepper, 2 teaspoons of cinnamon, and a heaping tablespoon of cocoa powder. To that I stirred in 1 tablespoon of coffee I happened to be drinking a pot, and thought why not? I can spare a little I lined a 13 x 9 with foil and poured a splash of coffee in the bottom. I generously rubbed my cocoa spice blend allover my almost 4 lb pork loin. I placed it in my pan and covered it with a piece of foil longways over the middle, leaving both sides open to vent. I baked it in a 350* oven for about 2 hours. I intended to bake it at 325*, but it was still slightly frozen in the middle.

It was delicious.

Sadly, that roast is probably the most exciting thing I’ve done all week outside of my research. I’ve been on adventures. I’ve battled Indians. I’ve traversed lands yet unsettled. I’ve even seen a bit of war. I’ve watched the railroads be built and seen the battle for the post office and court house as well as the county seat.

From the outside, a writer’s life is pretty boring. Always with their head in a book or screen, fingers tap-tap-tapping away. But, oh from the inside, the excitement is never ending. If a reader lives a thousand times, then the writer must live a million more.

I’m off to adventure to Missouri Valley, Iowa, all the way back to when it was known as McIntosh Point and how a town in the Missouri River bottoms became Missouri Valley and what made it so important. Missouri Valley is especially special to me because my grandfather was born there. 

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