Loose ends...

Woke to the sound of guests leaving. Jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to say goodbye, but too late. The Jeep had already turned the corner on its way to the airport.

Did a little writing over a pot of coffee. Not much, but enough to say I’m making headway on two new pieces. Moved some bookcases afterward and managed to avoid maiming or killing the kitties, both of whom insisted on being underfoot. The old glass-doored legal bookcase is now upstairs. Nice to look at it while I’m at the keyboard.

Read more of the Brautigan novel. Impressed at how easy he makes it look. How much heart he puts into it. Have the feeling it’s going to make me sad when all is said and done, but that’s okay. It has a lot of charm.

Made big plans to fry up some Polish sausage, sweet peppers and onions, but find I’m too lazy to do it after all the heavy lifting. So it’s comfort food instead. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Tired. Gonna hang it up now and see what the rest of the night brings.

Tryptophantastic...

Good half day of writing. Finished another, longer story I’ve titled, “The Jesus Brand.” Have high hopes for it, but that always seem to spell the kiss of death, so I’m tempering my enthusiasm. Two other pieces I’ve been working on are pretty far along, but I can’t lie. I’m eager to get to work on my new novel.

Had a wonderful Thanksgiving out. Great food, great company. Missed the old folks down in New Mexico, but that’s the way it always goes, isn’t it? You can never have everyone together at the same time, so you do the best you can.

Have charged deep into the heart of Richard Brautigan’s last novel, So the Wind Won’t Blow it All Away. Deeply moved by it. He wrote such sweet, amusing stories—and came to such a terrible end. You can feel the melancholy in the words. I keep thinking of my buddy, Spider, who had the same desperately funny sense of humor.

Holiday doings...

Thanksgiving Eve.

Finished “Crabwalk” tonight. A seductive bit of work. Thematically, bits of the novel reminded me of “A Clockwork Orange.”

Took a long walk, went to the gym, and came home to a lovely dinner. Nice to have family around.

Put the finishing touches on my short-short “The Bitter Angels of Our Nature,” this morning. Need to find a home for it now.

 

Then and now...

Long day. Revised two stories. One close enough to stick in the mail.

Putting the finishing touches on a pot of home-made mushroom soup. Been too long since I’ve worked this recipe.

Mr. Kitcat helping me write this. Sitting on the counter, hoping I’ll send some love his way.

Lots of hits on FB regarding both the Cassidy/Kerouac letter and the shot from the pergola on the grassy knoll in Dealey Plaza. Powerful memories.

 

On the road...

Opened the paper to an interesting article today. LA performing artist, Jean Spinosa, found a letter when she was cleaning out her late father’s house two years ago. An 18 page screed from Neal Cassady to Jack Kerouac, dubbed the “Joan Anderson Letter.”

In scholarly circles the missive is called "the letter that launched a literary genre," because after reading it, Kerouac was said to have “scrapped” his early version of On the Road, and during a “three-week binge” rewritten the novel in the style of Cassady’s letter.

Truman Capote said of Kerouac’s work, “that isn’t writing at all, it’s typing.” Well, maybe so. But it was inspired typing. On the Road is a joy to read, and I stick by it as literature.

Family coming to town tomorrow. The holidays are here. Time to forget about what isn’t, or what should have been, and focus on the now. Trade expectations for the enjoyment of the moment.

Hanging...

Anniversary of the assassination of JFK yesterday. Two best reads on the subject? Fiction: Don Delillo’s Libra. Non-fiction: Vincent Bugliosi’s Reclaiming History: The Assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

Slept well last night. Spent the better part of the day writing. Repainted the dining room walls damaged during the kitchen renovation this afternoon. Hung the new mirror and the artwork, and all was right with the world again.

Looking ahead to a busy week.

Reflections...

Another toss and turn night. Fell asleep close to dawn, and rolled out of bed before nine. Got in a small number of revisions on my longest story in some time (nearly 7,000 words), read a few pages, then showered and headed off to Denver.

Picked up a knockout of a 19th century Italian mirror for the dining room at antique shop on Alameda. Beautiful carved wood frame. Mottled glass where the silver’s worn away. Figure to hang it over sideboard on the west wall. Should make quite a statement.

Countryside up and back was a pretty palate of browns. No snow, but that’ll come later—in spades. Temps hit sixty. Wore shorts and a jacket, milking the good weather for everything it was worth.

Random musings...

Can’t believe November’s almost gone. The long Indian summer must have lulled me into some kind of trance. Busy day today, both at home and the office.

 Was given the occasion to think of someone very close to me, now long gone. It was something my son said. Nice to have had my memory jogged.

Finished a short, short today. Been noodling with it for over a year, and think I finally got it right. Close on two other, longer pieces. Hoping for a productive weekend.

 

 

Long day's journey into benightedness...

Just back from the gym, chilling with a glass of V8. Kitties are hanging back, lounging but alert, waiting for some treat action.

Long day of back-and-forths. Revisions. Revisions of revisions. More revisions. Maybe I should take a step back, revise that thought and say it was a long day of making changes. That would be more accurate. You revise a story. You change copy. The purpose of the first is to strengthen the writing. The purpose of the second is to entertain clients, which in turn allows you to pay the bills.

Got out for a walk the first time in a week or more. Felt nice. Weather people say the temps should creep close to 50 one of these days. Hope they’re right.

Lazy me...

Nice weather edging closer. Sunny today. Sunny, but still cold. Put in some good work at the keyboard, got in some reading. Feeling lazy tonight after a jaunt to the gym. Think I’ll hang it up and see if I can’t do better tomorrow.

Do not go gently...

Sunday. Dreary weather made it seem like a lost weekend, but in truth made headway on three stories, had two entertaining dinners with friends, and no one blew up the world while I wasn't looking.

Gonna have a quiet night tonight. Relax and watch TV. Recharge for the busy week ahead. Maybe read the Dave Eggers story in this week’s NYer.

Can feel the holidays creeping up. Excited to see what rounds the bend, but feel like a kid on an out-of-control bicycle wanting to put his sneaker in the gravel and slow things down.

Time…space-time…geologic time…island time…Lombardi time…soap opera time…writing time…. They’re all real. All conspiring to do us dirt. We have to spend every waking moment cheating them of the things they’re trying to steal from us.

 

Bent by the same wintry fever...

3:10 pm, Saturday afternoon. Out to dinner with guests last night, in for dinner with guests tonight. Day’s warmer that the few that preceded it, but overcast and gray. Very un-Colorado.

More white stuff predicted for tonight. We’ll see. Weather people missed the coming of the previous snow completely.

Worked hard on revisions this morning. Coming close on a couple of pieces. Meanwhile, unearthed a couple of old drafts that might have some promise. Rule #1: never throw anything away.

The big chill...

Two straight days of cold. Below zero again tonight. Woke yesterday morning to an acceptance slip from the Tulane Literary Society. Warmed things considerably. They’ve picked up “Give Me Your Tomorrows,” for inclusion in their 2014 Fall issue of the Tulane Literary Review, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

Too early to be suffering from cabin fever, and yet….

Need to dust off the snowshoes, say a quick prayer the temps drop to something civilized, and start planning the next jaunt into Mueller. Or thereabouts. Best way to deal with the cold is to meet it head on.

Into the cold...

Then came winter. The dark night of the soul. The morning started out sunny and warm, and by midday a cold wind had blown in over the mountains and set temps back forty degrees. Snow by morning. More on the way.

After a decades-long search for an old buddy, I learned yesterday that he was dead. Gone at forty, a heroin overdose. Had a hard time choking the news down. We were thick as thieves when we were kids, and it’s difficult to imagine the world without him in it.

Requiescat in pace, Slinky. You were never forgotten, and will always be remembered.

You want fries with that?

Overcast today, but warm. Sixties warm.

Up late last night, drifting in and out dreams. Woke for a long stretch around 3:00 am, and lay there thinking. Wondering how different Dante’s works might have been if he had seen the night skies through the Hubble telescope.

Mercifully, went back to sleep. But not before a blood orange sunrise lit the underside of the sky.

Rose a few hours later and put the last pieces of a new story in place. Afterward, took a nice stroll downtown. Picked up a couple of bottles of blackberry vinegar, dodged a few panhandling bums, then stopped in a joint called French Fry Heaven treated ourselves to lunch.

Back home, read an essay by Donald Hall, Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Have to admit it was a bit disturbing. Nobody can argue the man’s talent as a writer, but it appears that behind the wheel of a car, Hall is to the open road what Nicholas Sparks is to literature.

Revisions, repairs, and tactical retreats...

Just back from the butcher shop. Steak tonight, hot off the grill. Mashed potatoes and broccoli on the side.

Busy day today. Wrote till nearly two, coming close to a new readable draft. With luck, might make it so tomorrow.

Wallpaper repairman showed at 10:00 and finished the patchwork in the dining room. Seamless job. Once painted, no one will ever know it had ever been ripped.

Made an attempt to grocery shop later in the day, but found the store overrun with customers. Decided to ditch the crowd and make a beeline for home instead. Wise move, I think.

Fertilized the new lawn and treated it with ironite. Already itching to see what it will look like come spring. Do you aerate a new lawn? Seems like no, but will have to do some research.

Going out to fire up the grill.

More comings and goings...

Friday. Warm weather with overcast skies, drifting into what promises to be a mild weekend.

Plasterer came over mid-morning to repair damage done to the dining room wall during the kitchen renovation. Comes again tomorrow to finish the job.

Found three new places to send “Eternity, Revisited.” Heading to the post office now to see the manuscripts are in the mail before the last pickup.

Thinking too hard about everything. Need to write less and read more over the next couple of days. That usually straightens everything out.

A little of this, a little of that...

Another sunny day in the 60s. Wouldn’t be right to ask for more. Tomorrow is Friday, and that’s always a plus, though no plans to do anything special. Just work hard and see if a story pops out.

Got some good things done at the office. Always happy to get in some billable hours. The month seems to be shaping up well for commercial work, so will once again cross the fingers and hope for the best.

Cut the grass for what I believe will be the last time, and need to get the mower over to the Lawn Doctor before they shut down for the season. Oil change and blade sharpening. 

Burning daylight...

Good progress on a couple of drafts this morning. Still under the weather with the cold, so happy to make anything that looks like progress.

Before five now, but it’s already twilight. Daylight savings time. The weather’s still warm—warm enough to wear shorts, anyway—so trying to be judicious in my bitching.

Election’s over with a new set of jokers in office, so no more robo calls for a while, and no more emails. Don’t know why, but I’m always reminded of Victor Komarovsky’s (Rod Steiger’s) line in Dr. Zhivago after a strenuous political campaign. “No doubt they’ll sing in tune after the revolution!”

Tired now. Looking forward to a quiet evening.