From the shores of Lake Champlain

The view from the balcony blurs in the distance. The Green Mountains just a gray shadow across the blue sky. The water ripples in between cradling islands and sailboats, and it is here that I am trying to revise a novel. My mind is telling me "Fat chance" but I hope I'm wrong. After this evening, the view will no longer hold my gaze and I'll bury my nose where it belongs - in the story I brought to work on during a writer's retreat. Perhaps retreats should be in some inner city warehouse where the windows are so thick with grim that you can't see out or would not even want to if you could. Is a pretty view a good thing in the revision process? I'll let you know later this week.