We move into endearingly ramshackle Topanga quarters.
Time to begin work in earnest.
Then—the canyon turns on me.
Something settles on my chest, a palpable weight, nausea, dread, and finger-trembling fear. The spirit and beauty of Topanga vanish. Like upside down in Stranger Things, it’s right there—and not. The bright flipside’s inaccessible. I trip a light switch and silverfish scatter into shadows. Something stinks under the sink. Two strangers warn me of rattlers. Big dogs snarl behind a low fence.
Like stage fright, I cannot write. No desire, visceral terror, revulsion.
All I can think is run—away.