Chapter Twenty-Nine, also known as "The Last Chapter", of "Fiddler's Rose", has been completed. The nominal goal was 120,000 words, and it has come in at 118,300, which is close enough; it's where the story wanted to end. Now I take a few days off, and then start working on publishing (and final polish).
But... I HAS WROTE A BOOK!
I don't drink, much. There is always some hard cider in the fridge, but it sits for LONG periods of time. Every now and then, I feel like a shot of whisky, and usually go for the Tullamore Dew. There's always a bottle of Walker's Black Label around for special occasions, and every now and then there is a bottle of single malt something-or-other that takes the place of Black Label, until it is gone. And way at the back of the cabinet there is a bottle of Walker's Swing, purchased in the mid-90s just after Walker announced they were going to retire the brand (they have since re-introduced it), waiting for REALLY special occasions.
Dementia just walked into the living room and handed me a shot of something amber. "You finished a novel," she said. "You deserve some Swing." I don't know about that, but DAMN, that's good whisky...
And today's peculiar mission, if you should choose to accept it: I have decided to add a fictitious quotation to the top of every chapter of "Fiddler's Rose". Some of them will be ascribed to fictitious books, some of them will be identified as local proverbs. My question to those of you who care: Are there any Paul Haynie aphorisms that have meant something to you, that might be pressed into service in this cause, and if so, what are they? (I am prepared for a response of silence, here, but it never hurts to ask.)
Hmm. Yes but I have no idea if it fits your needs. Years ago, somewhere in the first couple of years I knew you, we were talking about dating/relationships/marriage and you told me something I've carried with me for years and passed on to other people as useful. You told me that sometimes it's okay to be selfish when it comes to being in a relationship. I'm paraphrasing I'm sure and there was a lot of exposition after the statement but the sentiment has proven useful.
Yes. It was something to the effect of, "it's not how tightly you can hold, but that your grips are the same strength" regarding relationships. It had a big impact. Sorry if I botched it.
Nikki M. Lancaster:
The wheel turns. Sometimes the edges are sharp.
You could walk the line of that distinction, if you want your feet cut to ribbons.
He’s not quite a houseplant.
Morgen Bredell Kirby:
You were talking about Liad, and started crying, and I got worried. You said something along the lines of "I've decided never to keep from crying when something affects me deeply." Brain is insisting that I add the following, though I don't know if it was ever said: "If you're ashamed to show when you love something, what's the point?"
So today I filed an application for a DBA as "Spiral Path Publications", our one book publishing company, mostly to serve as window dressing on the inside cover of "Fiddler's Rose".
There are holidays in the Land of the Velveteen Rabbit. Days like A.A. Milne's birthday, and Jim Henson's birthday. And today, the birthday of Christopher Robin Milne.
And as is my wont on such days, I offer the usual admonition: Tell a plush toy that you love it. Be sincere.
I've had Suchia since 2012, but she didn't get her name, or her eyes, until June of 2014.They were made of duct tape, red irises with black pupils. The years have not been kind to them, and today I replaced them. This time around the black is Contact paper, and I don't know how they will hold up on the highway; I'll find out tomorrow. For now, they're a big improvement. How can a boat with no eyes be expected to find its way home?
I have zero hope of living long enough to complete my current reading list, so it takes a bit to get me to actually BUY a book. But I have an interest in the market, lately, so whenever I see an ad on Facebook that interests me a bit, I flip over to Amazon and read the first few paragraphs of the book described.
It disturbs me a great deal that pretty much everything sounds less like Raymond Chandler, and more like Edward Bulwer-Lytton.
This is VERY far from the worst thing that is wrong with the world at the moment, but it is still very, VERY wrong...
Back from two days off-line at the annual Pizza Cutters Gravel Lake Poker Tournament. My favorite part of the event is that, once my boat is in the water, I can just leave it on the beach, and pull it into the water any time I want. Since I always seem to be the first person conscious in the morning, this means I can get up and do a lap of the lake when only the most obsessive fisherman are on the water. On Sunday morning, the lake was fogbound, with visibility of well less than 100 yards. The water was like glass most of the time, with occasional minor ripples that made Suchia chuckle (literally; it's one of my favorite sounds in the world) as she skipped across them. Most of the way, following the shore, there were always boats and rafts and houses lurking in the fog, keeping the experience rooted in the real world. But there was one moment...
Coming back to the main lake from my excursion down the side channel, there was one moment when the right side of my vision was occupied by three feet of sea wall, and trees, and the left side of my vision was occupied by three feet of sea wall, and trees, and dead ahead of me the water faded into the sky and the entire universe was a single infinite pale gray curtain.
And then I rowed back to the house and got on with the day...