I’m going camping tomorrow. I’m packing the puppies and a boy and we’re driving two hours away to eleven acres of green complete with tiny electricity-less shack.
My book has been talking a lot to my brain lately. I recently reformed a few chapters and finally started to compile an ending. I’m looking forward to having the last week of June off to string more pieces together with shades of description and a new face here or there.
Yesterday I learned that in addition to the roof I ordinarily spend time on, I can actually access a second rooftop area that’s 44 stories up. I stood up there staring across Manhattan rooftops last night with the same feeling of, “Holy shit, I can’t believe I actually got myself set up here” feeling that doesn’t leave.
Still, my feet are itchy for something. Something that likely falls into the realm of holiday, book finishing, new plan scripting.
Blah blah blah… for now, all I am interested in is making smores tomorrow. I was quite surprised about my Australian family’s lack of awareness regarding smores – particularly when they have such spectacular barbecues.
I’m looking forward to standing beside a fire and infusing my body with smoky strips. I’ll probably eat a burnt veggie sausage off of a charred tree branch. Peanut and Franky will so happy. And I bet I see stars too. New York City has nearly everything I need, but lacks my one and only non-begotiable requirement aside from puppies…
Stars are critical.
The blah-g is mess-ville love tribe. Our loyal cult affiliates likely noticed the new template. I’ve used this one before, it seems like a reasonable band-aid. I’ve done about 1,100 posts. The terms “category” and “tag” are very loose in these parts.
Last night I was looking at various pretty blogs. While I like how mine has the appearance of an old scrapbook, covered in coffee stains with favorite pages dog-eared – I need… I don’t know. Order? Continue reading
So I returned to New York City today after a weekend of writing in the country. I was greeted by cult members who painted my afternoon with things like triple olive, dirty vodka martinis and cigars on my balcony.
Consequently, I napped around 6pm… that happened.
Viva public holidays!
Never the less, I awoke at midnight, wandered Peanut around 9th avenue, bought a cherry coke and came back to my apartment with one major thought:
Graveyard Train. Continue reading
Sometimes I write those too… well, I did while I was in Australia. Maybe again down the line. Chapter One from I’m going where it snows. A story about a little boy in a hot Aussie climate who just wants some relief from the sweltering heat.
Mum and Dad refuse to buy an air-conditioner.
“Billy,” my Dad begins while I watch his bushy, blonde moustache wiggle back and forth. It’s too hot to move, and the sweat dripping down my body has me pasted to our leather couch. I can’t get away.
“Heat toughens you up, you should be thankful,” Dad continues. “Don’t you wanna be tough? You’re lucky to be one of the rare people on the planet who can survive in a climate like this. Sunny Queensland my boy!”
“But I’m dying,” I protest with a restless shift of my slumped body. I do this every few seconds to peel my sweaty legs away from the sticky material beneath me. “Why can’t we get an air-conditioner?” Continue reading