Grr

I hate everything I've written on the Kerr Dam thus far. And I'm incredible frustrated. Writing, in this case, seems to have made things worse.

Newness

On a sleepy Sunday evening, I seem to have a clear head. I've changed direction a bit on my project, both reluctantly (because, more work) and excitingly.

I'm working on an overview of the Kerr Dam sale on the Flathead River that looks at the sale of the dam from and eco-critical perspective (how the dam/modernity affects our river basins and surrounding landscapes, and how the sale will change the way consume and produce energy in a hydro-heavy state, etc.), but the main goal is to get it published before the sale in September of this year to create local knowledge of the presence of hydropower in Montana by fostering interest in place, which will hopefully turn into environmental interest in place.

If you don't know, the Kerr Dam was build on the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribe reservation by the state who pays a $19 million tax annually to the tribe. It's slated to be sold back to the Kootenai in September for ~$18 million. It's the first time in U.S history that a sovereign nation will hold rights to large scale hydropower, or  be in control of such economic power. It has the potential to radically change the energy consumption and sales in northern Montana, and possibly the entire state... yet, no one seems to know about it, talk about it, or care about it here. 

(http://flatheadbeacon.com/2014/08/20/power-struggle/) 

I think I can go at this nicely with a mix of the poetic language I had been avoiding previously, and still keep it reserved enough that it will do work for me journalistically. I can use the research I'd done on the Powder River Basin and Montana's water rights system to fill the composition with well-understood information that will educate but also engage the reader, and examples of other areas where we have seen similar issues confronted in our state.

I'm off to write!

Read! Flathead River and Kerr Dam to change hands. What's next?

Churning

This is a tricky, winding business, writing. Like water itself, my work seems slippery-- continuously falling through my outspread hands. I sit down to write and something new comes out, and I am having a difficult time trying to find transitions to connect everything together. 
I can't help but feel that I've reached a confluence in the river of my work, and I must choose which to follow. Imagine, to the left, a slow, snaking river backed by towering snow-capped mountains, flooded in sunshine-- both beautiful and familiar, poetic. On the right, lies a far more remote river with dark, churning rapids, dry and barren landscape, but the lure of the challenge in those waters is enticing-- you know at the end of that float, something hard and new will have happened. I feel as if right now, I've slammed my oars into the water and am rowing backwards, trying to keep both rivers in sight, straining not to choose one over the other for the fear of disappointment in the end. 
My vision is to create a project that's outside of my comfort zone, that takes me through choppy water. But every time I near the mouth of the second river, I'm pulled back to the first-- to my poetic tendencies, and my emotional connection to this subject matter. Remedying this is where I am now. How do I brave these coursing waters?
Though this is a demanding dilemma to face, there's a certain wave of exhilaration in the choice; in knowing only one river can be ridden, and in choosing the harder trip. When we know failure is a possibility, we take risks to save our boat from turning over-- the question now is, will those risks pay off? Will I pop back up to the surface, or will my words be diluted, lost and muffled in the current? Will my work be effective?
My mind races in ten thousand different directions, trying to answer these questions, trying to chose, trying to plan and prepare. It's frustrating to never know what the next turn will hold, to be blind at the bend of the river. I'm still fighting the water, struggling, pulling against her path.
It's time to surrender to natural movement, and enjoy the ride.