(Internet On)

Book is done. NOT. April Fools. HA. 

And yesterday I quit writing and editing at five p.m. The town was quiet because everybody was out to eat for the holiday. Then they came back. I heard the noises out the window. Pictures on social networks of children were flooding my existence. Oh man, and then a SUV drove down the street bumping ‘Gangster’s Paradise. Really? Teeth and windows and dogs barking. Tap…tap…nope, and I was done for the day. I went to my bedroom, shut door, hit bed, watched a movie and devoured some mac and cheese spirals, and out man, I slept. 

Book…almost, and I’m the greatest writer of his generation. Not. April Fools. 

For the past three weeks I’ve been writing and editing and living constantly. Strange that even when I get 2000 words done a day I feel like I was lazy. I need to work harder. That seems insane, but it’s true. Why? I don’t care about why anymore. Cold day in April, and everyday seems like April fools day to me.  

644 words left. 

Taking a step back and letting your art go at it’s own speed is something you must learn to do. It’s tough to do this. I want it to be done. It hasn’t grown up yet. It’s…almost. Could be days. Could be another week. My book is not a morning person. My book has a stuttering problem. My book looks in the mirror too much worrying about what others are going to think about it. My book is a alive. Not. April fools. And…

Writers stand up sometimes when they type not to be cool. Not because they like it. But because they are old young dying men and women who have back problems. And…

Smoke and snow flakes and internet off and walk and off to the library. Laughing and reading and rocking and a’ tap…tap…tap. 


Phone rings at 8am. I had an interview this morning. They asked me what I thought the future of books was going to be. WHAT? EXCUSE ME? I was still tired. I said that’s a dumb question. Interview over. They said what. I said you’re looking at this the wrong way. You mean the present of books. What they said. I said goodbye. I’m going to eat french toast. Click. I made french toast. Eating in bed again still in robe, and I fell back asleep to re-runs of real old episodes of Unsolved Mysteries.  I woke up to Murder She Wrote. Damn it I said. That’s what happened. Who cares. The Universe does. NOT!


Up! No! DOWN!

I’m Really in a great mood. NOT. April yeah…


p.s. I’ve started deleting most of my work that I hope people will pay me pennies for. So yeah, as I said this site is going to change soon. focus on series and spontaneous prose and gonzo reporting and theory, all that in good time I’ll inform you of  soon in the future, but not now, and why? 

nobody knows. 


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