From French to English, then back to French, and on to English again. Andrea Wulf’s The Invention of Nature Alexander Von Humboldt’s New World serving as the stabilizer right now, as I go back and forth from current life events to fiction. So while the characters carry on their singular lives and drop me hints of how the combinations will play on the next toss of the dice*, a bit of information most of us will never discover any other way than through reading:

“Humboldt was interested in everything: the plants, the animals, the rocks and the water. Like a wine connoisseur, he sampled the water of the various different rivers. The Orinoco had a singular flavor that was particularly disgusting, he noted, while the Rio Apure tasted different at various locations and the Rio Atabapo was ‘delicious’. He observed the stars, described the landscape and was curious about the indigenous people they met and always wanted to learn more. He was fascinated by their worship of nature and thought them ‘excellent geographers’ because they could find their way even through the densest jungle. They were the best observers of nature he had ever encountered. They knew every plant and animal in the rainforest, and could distinguish trees by the taste of their bark alone – an experiment that Humboldt tried and failed miserably. All fifteen of the trees he sampled tasted exactly the same to him.”

*I don’t know how the writing process works for other people, but in first draft mode, there’s nothing linear about the progression over here. The story takes shape like patches of ground cover growing one toward another.  For instance, I know how the meeting will happen between two of the characters – but don’t have the intro to that scene in my scribbled notes yet. In another instance, two characters have met up and are already engaged in a scene, but I have no idea how they got together in the first place.

For now: more on von Humboldt, an open window, and the sound of a gentle rain falling on green and bouncy leaves.