Henry Miller's library is up the road. A friend writes to send his best regards to Alan Watts, whose biography is largely set around here. On our last stay, in 1995, we had a great visit from Joel Singer and his partner the poet and Filmmaker James Broughton, who's ANDROGYNE JOURNAL is one of the bravest revelatory memoirs and set around here. It's a great place for writing.
I've no sense of actually setting anything here though. Maybe in the future. It seems I write about places long after being in them. Creation itself is juicy here though. Just off the point is a kelp bed and otter breeding ground. Hummingbirds zip in to suck up from the fuchsia. Squadrons of pelican fly past. The sun turns orange and red and squashes itself down through the haze on the horizon till it's doused in the ocean. Treefrogs do their vocal marimba through the night. Novel writing is the business of creating universes. Giving out that much, it can only help to be fed by the natural world.