Cooking the Hook

I was with Charlie yesterday and my phone fell down behind a low table in his room. It's coffee table Jim built from salvaged doors a few years before he passed. Gorgeous. Heavy. Perfect toddler play table. There was some blind groping and I recovered the phone, blew off the dust bunnies and found this accidental image. Hiding under the back of the lower shelf was Charlie's Caddy!  It had been missing for a while and he was tickled to rediscover it. I was beat when I got home and didn't trust myself to write anything much beyond a bit of dialogue that occurred to me on the drive so I started tinkering with this rather haunting image, adding text, mocking up a book cover. I'll spare you. But studying the image, I had a stark revelation about the WIP. Every character - with notably few exceptions -  has a car that's associated with each of them in a way that is as incidental as saying "Ray was an old-school greaser." It should come as no surprise t

Colin had been working on getting the pool cleaned out after a very tough winter. Tough in that, for the first time in memory, there was no ice to worry about. The bio-diversity of the water left standing over the winter was particularly nasty. But it's filled now - (just before writing this post there was a torrential downpour, so it's probably topped off!)  Two new ducky lifeguards are hard at work dribbling chlorine here and there. Now all I need is for the water temp to get up to where I can get in and do the hand scrubbing. Maybe next weekend. This morning I went on a little ride-a-long with Charlie and Jake to urgent care. Poor little bugger has been perking a sinus infection for a few days. Time for some pink medicine.  He'll be his usual charming self by Monday when I spend the day with him. After a second overdye, I finally got that Vera Bradly backpack a color I can live with. It's a bit large for day to day but will be nice for when I haul the

It's very easy to let this habit of reporting slip away when nothing creatively shareable is going on. Writing is like that. Raw first drafts are hard enough to share with other writers in small groups. You are lucky if you can find crit partners who will be both straight with you and instructive. I've recently been that lucky and have been giving most of my free time over to the first draft, which is morphing into its first major revision. my peonies have bloomed and gone! Stitchers, imagine, if you will, a piece you've labored on, mostly in secret (shades of Quilt National!) - an epic piece, say 8 feet by 22 feet - that's right, I said FEET, not inches.  And so the powers that be have let you know that No Way will it ever see the light of day in that form and you have to make a triptych out of it. Somehow hacking it into hangable pieces. At first, the rebel in me said, "Fuck you and your pony!" but after looking at this steaming pile of  222+k of words

I've tried them all and know that this is the best seat in the house. I'll be there starting tomorrow taking an extended break from social media. I don't want to think about the time I've wasted beating my head against imaginary rocks. There are scenes waiting for attention. Tales waiting to be spun.