Writing in hotels

Watching leaves fall from trees this morning in downtown Portland I felt so hopefully happy, really feeling as the leaves fell that I need words less and less in my life now and as I need them less how much more important they are becoming. 

Just last night I tried explaining the book I'd just written to my granddaughter, age 10. She'd asked, how long does it take you to write a book? 

This one took five years I told her.

What's it about? she said.

It's about a man who goes on a long trip and asks questions like, what is love, what is truth, what is justice.

And then what? she asked.

Then he realizes toward the end of his journey that it's his job to find the one question that is the question of his life, I said.

Oh, she said, that sounds amazing. Can I read your book?