Cooking the Hook - NEW

From a printed synopsis I've been able to shuffle scenes around so things start making sense, see the gaping holes where I've kidded myself with "I'll flesh that out later" and killed a few gems of self-indulgence babbling It's really too raw to call it a rough draft, but I don't know a better word for it. Now the idle traffic light diversion is finding a title. Can you imagine? All this time having no name for a project that's taken up so much mental energy? I used to look at a textile piece in progress and the title would pop out of my mouth without a bead of sweat forming on my brow!

All I need now is one of those giant baseball glove floats. The water has finally warmed up to the point where I can stand in it for a few hours with papers and such spread out on the decking, radio, drinks..all the amenities and I'm not sitting on my ass.  No computer of course, but that's not a terrible thing. I finally printed out a synopsis and spent my time shuffling scenes around and noting which ones needed more work. Lot's of work. I've been foot dragging over this for a while now and it felt good to get it done. There is a glimmer of this going on:  " Saying Goodbye "' PS HOLY SHIT! 230 single spaced pages, 138K words plus forty pages of notes to be added in. It's looking like a rough draft!

The view from my office is not exactly inspirational, but it will do as a place to get things done - mostly in the form of transcribing notes that I've jotted down at every stoplight I come to. What part of the brain is it that comes alive when I am driving on autopilot and listening to the same well-worn playlist on my ancient I-pod? It makes me long for the days of 1.55 per gallon gas. Then I was preoccupied with bitchin' about that too. I haven't been walking as much as I want to. It's getting very hot earlier in the day here and the pool is final warm enough to get into. It's time for a change of routine. I'm dragging my feet over writing key scenes - the ones of heavy conflict, murder and mayhem. A change of scenery would be welcome, but not likely to happen anytime soon.

I've waited a couple of days to write anything about the finale of Mad Men just so that I wouldn't be assassinated by some stalker for spilling any spoilers. Not here, btw. For now, I just want to say how much I loved the opening sequence - Don piloting this muscle car across the salt flats like nothing mattered (it was just dawning on him that it didn't), then him stepping out of the car and peeling off the snoopy flying helmet and the realization that he had bamboozled some fools into thinking he was a race car driver. Of course, he is. From the beginning, it's always been about the car. I watched the show in a celebratory manner, trying to go drink for drink with whoever was on screen drinking. I even watched the encore, another round, I think. Sleep was deep, but never dreamless. For some time now I've been wrestling with the realization that my female main character is weak. It's been tough writing her into things. So much wallpaper. Jack is rich...

There are no cobwebs here. Perhaps the only place in the house that's web free. Now that I've learned some trixie things that I can do with Scrivener and DragonSpeak, I've stopped dragging my heels about making sense and order out of some 130 thousand words that have materialized since this time  last year . Notice my new muse, St. Brad...I don't know if he's interested in the endeavor or he's looking down my shirt. I'm not sure I want to see "Fury." I tend to get emotionally involved with rage. I was feeling the need for some 70s color in the book and I found some useful source material on Ebay. This is where I got my cultural news. No TV, no internet. Remembering life before so much technology and connectivity is like spending time on a deserted island. So slow and delicious.

The sign read “the MONKEY BITES”.  Ace sat with his back to the room tearing out single pages from a small bible and eating them, chewing slowly while looking up at the ceiling of his cage as if he was memorizing the passages. Billy, the owner and bartender, said he only ate one or two pages a day – it was not as if he was hungry. Billy always fed Ace every time he fed himself. In fact, he fed the monkey first since he was worried about being poisoned, a fair concern because he treated the cook like dirt.

I came across this yesterday.  It's a theme that has always run through my writing and personal philosophy. I suppose I'll have to learn the process of asking for permission to use quotes from other authors hoping it could be as simple as an email.