FIFTEEN PAGES

FIFTEEN PAGES

The late playwright Sam Shepherd once wrote that the go/no go point in some new project came after writing fifteen pages. I remember reading that back in the 1980s and thinking that fifteen pages was a hell of a lot of writing before making up your mind. His quote is one of those things that finds traction in your brain pan, though for no particular reason. I mention all this because I'm fifteen pages into the new historical fiction piece and I'm having a blast. Turns out I can write fiction. Let's do fifteen more.

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SCATTERED

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SCATTERED

"I read your blog," Calene told me the other day. This is news. Callie doesn't read my books and doesn't always venture into this space. It goes with the territory. Jerry Seinfeld says his wife doesn't think he's funny. Author's wives don't need to read our stuff because we (at least me) download about it verbally all the time.

"What'd you think?"

"It sounded scattered. Like the way you've been acting lately."

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SOCIALS

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SOCIALS

I've got a Twitter account. I still can't call it X with a straight face. Ideally, if I'm trying to sell a book or build a following, it seems there should be a singular theme to what I post. Look at Three Year Letterman's satire or Amy Lofgren's ongoing crusade. But my feed is a random emotional purge, sometimes happy and sometimes funny and very often angry when I mean to be funny.

ROAD TRIP

ROAD TRIP

Cleaned the condo last night. Woke up at 5, cold shower (that icy water comes straight off the mountain), took out the trash, Stellar Brew for coffee and a blueberry muffin, then down 395 as the sun limned the White Mountains. I took a picture.

I had the road to myself. Resisted the urge to go full gas, holding 65 miles an hour all the way down the mountain to Bishop. Kept the window rolled down to smell the crisp air. Some guy came out of nowhere to pass me. I just let him go.

DOWN TIME

DOWN TIME

I spent the afternoon cleaning the algae from my backyard fountain. Bought a Shop-Vac for a criminally low price, drained the water, scrubbed the green stuff that has been building since the heat wave began a month ago. Planted two sunflowers in the front raised bed. Their height gives the garden a look more in keeping with the elevated location. Watched Wimbledon yesterday and today. Did a Matt Wilpers ride on Peloton. Walked Sadie. Went to church….

THE 10,000

THE 10,000

I'm coming to the end of the running book. Two chapters to go. Maybe three. They seem to sprout organically. Maybe about 10,000 words, max. Weird things happen so close to the finish line. Sentences and words from a few hundred pages appear to me in the night, demanding I add a sharp fact or witty clarification. I pull out the Notes app on my phone and write them down then go back to sleep. But mostly I want to slow the pace and enjoy the last days of this project.