The Birth of a Novel: CAMPER GIRL
- Glenn
- Sep 23, 2020
- 5 min read

In November 2011, I started to tell a story.
But the story actually began earlier than that, way back during the summer of 2000.
I was in the village of Saranac Lake, NY, which is situated in the Adirondack Mountains, a short drive from the famed town of Lake Placid. I'd earned my Masters degree the previous year, and after piecing together adjunct teaching gigs for a few semesters, I applied for full-time professor jobs. One school I had in my sights was North Country Community College. To work and live in the Adirondacks sounded perfect. Never mind that Saranac Lake is often the coldest spot in the continental US.
I applied to and got an interview at NCCC (and later received a job offer.) After the interview, my spirits were high. I drove north, back into the village. At the corner of Lake Flower Ave. and River St., I spotted a Toyota Dolphin, which is a small motorhome. Behind the wheel was a young woman. She couldn't have been more than eighteen.
There I was, at major intersection in my life, and the sight of that girl sitting behind the wheel of a motorhome, alone, at a literal and perhaps symbolic intersection of her own, struck me.
What was her story? Where was she going? (Where were any of us going?)
What life choices had she made? What was her path? And why was she driving a beat-up camper? When was the last time you saw a person younger than 30 drive a camper?
The girl looked determined and a little nervous, like she was setting out on an adventure. Maybe she was simply driving the vehicle across town for her parents. Maybe she was picking up friends, and then going camping at one of the many nearby lakes. Whatever the case, and for some reason, the possibilities of her story took root.
Fast-forward: I took a full-time teaching job (though not in Saranac Lake), got married, bought a home, had kids...
Then, after earning tenure and a promotion to Assistant Professor, I left my teaching job. My wife's career had blossomed and was enough to support the whole family. My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. My son was an infant, and I had the rare opportunity to raise him full-time.
I was at another intersection: if I wasn't a college professor, who was I?
I threw myself into full-time parenting and dabbled in photography and music. At that time, writing wasn't really on my radar. I'd started a few novels, but was feeling lost and uninspired as far as writing went. Still, the truth remained that I was happiest when I wrote. It was that simple.
Then I heard about National Novel Writing Month. Every November, writers around the world committed themselves to writing 50,000 words in 30 days. 1667 words per day. Six pages, give or take.
I could do that, I decided. If nothing else, it would be a fun challenge. I hoped that the experience would kick-start my writing mojo, and that having a complete (though very rough) draft of a novel come would be the boost my self-confidence needed.
In the days leading up to Nanowrimo, I mined my memories and notebooks for a promising premise. After toying with several ideas, I decided I was going to write the story of that kid in a motorhome, that seed of a story from a decade earlier.
Shannon's story is my story, and yours, and your friend's--anyone who's ever found themselves at a critical juncture. Do I stay or do I go? Do I turn right or left? The worn path or the road less traveled? Or do I say "To hell with roads," and head blindly into the wilderness?

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