I’m doing a little better, very lately, of applying myself rigorously to the discipline of cranking out the next paragraph...the next snippet of dialogue...the next implausible situation that my story people must, as products of my imagination, carry out whether they like it or not. I vastly prefer my world with them in it, but they can fade into such ephemeral wisps if I don’t keep them front and center.
The Scallywags crew meanwhile, or at least their first three chapters, are on another slush pile vacation to NYC. I hope they will return refreshed and ready to give it another go.
In the realm of people who live outside my head and hard drive, one in particular is doing so reasonably well these days that I scarcely know what to make of it. So the trick, I think, is not to make anything of it. Except hay. Which you make while the sun shines.
Useful hint: If you have one of those vacuum thingies for sucking air out of wine bottles so that the wine stays fresher, do not apply it to your chin like Gabe did. Chin hickies are hard to explain. Well, the truth works. And then you’ll find out that your art teacher’s 30 year old brother did the same thing.
Today’s weather has been so balmy and buoying that it doesn’t feel like 9:50 p.m. But it will feel like 5:15 a.m. tomorrow when the alarm goes off regardless.
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