Life in General...
I did not watch the premiere of American Horror Story because of the bug
dudes. Well, honestly, it's not their fault. They are not even here yet. But
they will be . . . with their AHS-delaying
pressurized canisters, wiggling their metal wands at baseboards and inside
cabinets and at anything that may or may not be crawling.
"BUG! Spray 'em!"
"Uh, sir? That's the shadow of the ceiling
fan."
"Don't worry. I got 'em."
In anticipation of their arrival, we spent the
evening packing up our kitchen, as if to move.
We didn't have much choice. The exterminators (who
get grumpy if you ask them to say, "I'll be back" in an Austrian
accent) tell us we must clear the cabinets. Then they spray the vacated spaces.
Not much point in arguing. These people have access to deadly toxins. One whine
too many and the next morning I might look over at my wife and say,
"Honey, there's something weird about my coffee today. It tastes--GAWK!"
Naw, they wouldn't do that. They are nice guys,
even if they don't have shiny metal endoskeletons. And I'm grateful that the
landlord brings them through as a routine precaution every 3 months. Besides,
if we ever have to move, we'll have lots of practice packing.
My wife and I also attended the parent-teacher
conference with my son's homeroom instructor. Our boy is making all A's. We are
thrilled. The teacher also enjoys having him in class, because, she says, he's
not only bright but also one of her more unique students.
"He's hilarious," she said. "And
he is very . . . comfortable in his
skin."
For example, he commonly goes to school wearing
yellow tennis shoes, shiny red basketball shorts, a chartreuse t-shirt sporting
a shamrock across his chest, and a rainbow bow tie. (He forgot to wear the tie on picture day and
is still annoyed.) My wife and I just grin and wish we were as brave as he is
with self-expression.
You just have to know the boy.
He recently stopped saying hi and instead says,
"Top o' the marnin' to ya, lassie." We try to explain to him that he
is not Irish (TV caricature or otherwise) and that his natural accent is
Midwestern. He doesn't care. He doesn't even care to whom to he says it (everyone,
regardless of gender, used to be "laddies") or even what time of day
he says it. Why should he care that it isn't politically correct? He just likes
the sound of it.
The Writing and Current Projects...
The fiction word count for Wednesday was even
more abysmal than Tuesday. (Yes, I know abysmal is an absolute, but trust me on
this.)
I went back and tried to clean up the early
part of the Alaskan fantasy Chapter 2. I really meant only to cut a few awkward
phrases. But I ended up tinkering. Now
it seems overwritten. Here's a snippet:
At
the brittle edge of sleep, Elgin inhaled a long drag from his pillow. The scent
of Tide laundry detergent chilled his sinuses, spilled like time into his
lungs, and whispered that Mom would not always be here to do things for him.
The baby of the family got fewer years with the parents, got the leftovers of
their lives.
Another
surge, cold and clean, pushed him awake.
He
levered himself up onto his elbows. Elgin's bones were still young enough to
keep quiet when he moved. Sunlight burned away the dreamy cobwebs in his brain
and made way for the slam of consciousness, hard like realizing it was Monday
morning and you forgot to do your homework. Summer vacation. It's summer.
It is not even Monday. He scanned the
walls to remind himself that he knew where he was. Paneling held thumb-tacked
pages from Hit Parade magazine (144 pages to be exact) of heavy metal idols
wielding huge electric guitars and looking as if they had just fed upon an
unwilling fan.
Fiction = 96
Blog = 447
Monthly
totals for October 2015...
Fiction = 334
Blog = 1,517
MANUSCRIPT TOTAL COUNTS...
Alaskan
fantasy = 7,310
Missouri horror novel = 3,679
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