Saturday, December 3, 2011
I'm not upset about it, I'm not upset about one damn thing except the fumes of the flea spray Mr. Moon just doused our dogs with. We're in a battle with the fleas here which have become immune to Front Line and Advantage and dang, if this shit won't kill the little fuckers, I don't know what will.
Might kill the dogs and us too but I'm hoping not tonight.
I just dug back into that novel some more and here's the problem with it: it's too close to damn home. It's not a bad book although it needs massive edits and tightening and purging and so forth but it's just too close to home. Which means the bone. Which means...am I a writer or am I a shy little writer-wanna be?
Well, I will ponder this some more. I'm sorry I use the word "ponder" so much but it's one of my favorite words in the English language. I fell in love with it when I was a child and playing Mary in the church Nativity and the narrator said, "And Mary took these things and she pondered them in her heart."
I've been pondering ever since and I probably will continue to ponder until the day I die.
Soybeans are simmering, bread is rising. Fumes are dissipating, sun has set, Mr. Moon is ready to play some cards, Prairie Home Companion is on, I'm dressed like a homeless person in Goodwill Levi's and cashmere. In short, life is good.
Y'all be well.