I brought a Real Camera, but all of these were taken with my new phone, with which I am pleased.


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OK, I haven't only taken pictures of trees of late, but they're well-represented.


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I write to you from the thriving metropolis sleepy town of Crescent City, California, where a foghorn duels with sea lions for auditory supremacy, about a half-marathon south of the Oregon border ( Read more... )

Halfway through the new novel, I have finally figured out what I've subconsciously been doing with it all along, so that's a relief. Also I finished the initial copyedits of my book of travel writing coming out next year (working title: No Fixed Address) though I still need to write some sort of conclusion. Conclusions are hard ( Read more... )

I spent 96 hours in Las Vegas last week, to "cover" (in my, um, idiosyncratic way) Black Hat / DefCon for TechCrunch. It was a weird time. How weird? Even the infamous John McAfee made an appearance.

Photos:


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96 hours: Berkeley - Red Bluff - Susanville - Lava Beds National Monument - Cedarville - Gerlach - Nevada Highway 447 (and a bit of 34) - Reno - Carson City - South Lake Tahoe - US 50 - Berkeley.

(I used to put these behind a cut, but LJ is so dead these days I no longer bother.)


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Negotiations for a seat in a sept-place tend to be quick and curt. Timing is everything. If you arrive just as the Peugeot which was previously head of the queue is pulling out, you’ll get the prime front-seat position, but you’ll have to wait; if you’re the last to arrive, you depart immediately, but squeezed into the middle of the back seat ( Read more... )

Once we leave Dakar the country gets arid in a hurry. The landscape is dominated by stands of huge baobab trees, clusters of gnarled limbs reaching skywards from their absurdly thick trunks as if pleading for some kind of arboreal salvation. Some few are selected by a mysterious avian algorithm for group accommodations; I counted twenty separate ( Read more... )

Huh. I think my brain wants this to be, at least in part, a writing trip.

If you ask me it makes no sense to fly to West Africa this week to start writing a book set in the East Bay some twenty-five years from now, but OK, fine, whatever, brain, I guess you're the boss.