A Book I Won't Read, and Why

In my ongoing quest for paying work, I found the following ad on Craigslist, listed under the category of Artists:

Lingering in the Woods is a Viking Fantasy Story. In the untamed wilds of ancient Finland, Chrigle is a young new shaman with a demanding chieftain. He is charged to provide safety over his tribe's hunters and has much to prove. With only his Spirit Guide to consult, Chrigle must protect the hunters from the ravages of the forest and lead his chieftain and tribe across unfamiliar land, which brims with unknown dangers. His burden grows as a witch with her own motives plies him with a curse and an aggrieved demon seeks his demise. Using spiritual powers, Chrigle must find a way to protect his people, save a tortured soul, and survive the onslaught of a demonic attack, but the price of righteousness may be too high. In this fantasy of Finnish lore, what begins as a journey for Chrigle to win his place among the tribe quickly turns into a test of will and sacrifice. Can Chrigle save the soul of a demon's spawn in order to protect his tribe and save himself from exile?

Naturally, after digesting this claptrap I was brimming with questions, among them:
1. Since I live in America in the year 2012, what do I care about the untamed wilds of ancient Finland, or even the tamed wilds of modern Finland for that matter ?
2. Why would Chrigle even try to save the soul of a demon's spawn? I mean, wouldn't that also be a demon?
3. What am I supposed to do about any of this?

And so, as yet another day passes without my earning a dime, I guess I should buy this book to help some other starving artist pay the rent. However, while I am definitely interested in learning how to survive a nuclear winter and ditto another four years of Obama, I don't give a hoot about saving my tribe from exile in the ravaged forests of an unfamiliar land. And considering that my Spirit Guide drowned in the Washington Hilton swimming pool 13 years ago, my demanding chieftain is often out of town on business, and the only witch I know isn't even speaking to me anymore, none of this even applies to me.

Waiting for the Daffodils and Losing My Mind

It will be three years ago this month that I moved to Maine, and it seems the longer I live here, the greater the challenge. While the body is amused--what with the kayaking and the snowshoeing and the skiing and the horseback riding and the fishing and the sailing and the rock climbing and the hiking and the biking--the brain is another story.

Simply put, there is little to do here to engage the mind. This is no small concern; having lost my mother to Alzheimer's, I worry about my brain cells literally dying from disuse. So, each morning I check several online job boards for writers, editors and media professionals of all sorts. In the three years I've lived here there has never been one writing job advertised in the state of Maine. What's a writer to do? I read, take photographs, do crosswords, play word games online with distant friends -- and write this blog.

Although staying sharp mentally in Maine is a challenge, it's hard to imagine going back to the real world. There's no traffic here. You can always find a parking space. There's no crime: no gangs, rapes, murders, home invasions or carjackings. You can sleep soundly at night without a baseball bat under your bed. There are no home alarm systems; in fact, many of our neighbors lack keys to their front doors.

But as I write this on the first day of March it is snowing, with 10 inches expected by nightfall, whereas my friends in Maryland have daffodils and are already weeding their gardens. Just saying.