The Homeless Novelist

Stories are a big part of my vagabond life. We moved from our home in Colorado to the desert of Arizona and don't have a permanent home. We're due to move again in a month (after we find another rental).

I wrote my latest novel, June Bug, in my old office (wearing a full chemical splash suit), at another house in Colorado, and in the pull along trailer parked outside our old house. It was an interesting exercise to work through the pain and setbacks. And it was in that transient atmosphere that I think I've done my best work. You'll understand more when you read it. (Go to ChrisFabry.com for more.)

Perhaps the ability to tell my stories wherever I am comes from my strong sense of "home" in West Virginia. Below is a picture taken in late June of my boyhood home. My parents still live there. In the foreground, the flat portion was a racetrack and a baseball field. We used to ride go-karts and mini-bikes there. I seined minnows in the creek that wound by the field. You can imagine what those trees look like in the fall. They explode with brilliant color. This truly is "Dogwood" to me, and the house where Will grew up.

My father and I planted pine saplings that now dwarf the house. The barn above the house is gone. The ground has changed from how I remember it. This was a great area to sled but it seems to have settled and flattened a bit. Behind the house is a hill where we camped out and sent model rockets into space.

This is where my stories began. It's the strongest sense of place I have for my characters. It is the place where I draw from memory's well and make sense of life. I only have to close my eyes to hear the crickets and smell the fecund aroma of fertile earth. That green of the hills shows there is vibrant life. No matter where I am, no matter how many times we have to move, this is the place where I return. It is a good place for the stories I want to tell. It is a good place to remember. When I think of it, I don't feel like a vagabond. I feel grounded.