Bleeding for the company

Tradesmen know what I'm talking about. I got off easy, just a skinned knuckle repairing the horse barn gate. Make a note, do not build gates. Two tanks of fuel to whack the truck path back there, about 12 x 150 ft of tall grass and weeds, tossing aside windfall. Plenty more to pick up when I feel like doing a burn pile. Somewhat stunned. Another couple acres to whack. I need another gallon of gas. Plenty of string, which I pilfered from Carol. All my hand tools are at her house, haven't seen her for months. She'll show up and ask me to crawl on her roof, stretch 100 ft of shade cloth over her greenhouse windows, move big tubs of stupid plants outside with a hand truck.

 

The good news is page 238, another 30 or 40 to go maybe. I'm in the third act. I told the last good joke, foreshadowed hell, and it all goes downhill from now on, except a twist at the end. Those of you who know my methods will not be surprised that it took a while to find the right music for the next chapter. Music first, then write — "Twilight Zone" by Golden Earring, a slow dark strut. I'm tempted to write the next chapter in quatrain, hammer hammer hammer nail.

 

I worked in Holland a long time, two stints of two years, plenty of great Dutch rock, including Golden Earring, of course, but guitarist Ferdie Lancie, lunatic keyboardist Thys van Leer, and wonderful Herman Brood, last of the true rock and roll / heart and soul junkies. I got spoiled working with Dutch rockers. Made Bowie and Queen sound like Top 40 trollops.

 

My day started with hauling firewood, unloading and stacking it, then trimming the dog. If you trim a shihtzu's paws and flanks with a scissors, it's an exercise in interspecies diplomacy and you end up with enough hair on the floor to make another dog. No writing today. I'm out of pot and dead tired. The good news is that I'll live to see Escape! completed and launched, one of my worst and best novels, tons of sex and humor and heartache. I told Tom that my theme was individualism, which is superficially true, a politically correct gloss.

 

The hard nut is courage, love, and loyalty in a difficult world.

 

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