So yesterday, my wife and I brought home a new addition to the
household. She's named Diamond, is a boxer/retriever mix, and in the
first hour she had established herself in the pecking order somewhere
below our long-haired cat. A single paw-swipe at her nose sent her
running away and hiding behind my wife, who was trying to be
supportive while laughing so hard she had to sit down.
The book is coming along, slowly, but it's getting where I need it to
be. I'm also looking at new markets where I can submit some of the
stories I have sitting around on my hard drive. Also, I'll probably
go through Roja at least one more time before I consider it ready to
use as agent-bait. It's nice to have a plan of what to do. Now the
only thing left is to follow through.
Some small part of my brain is also going back to The Red Man
Burning. I haven't worked on it in a while, not since I missed
getting In The Dark done on time (which still annoys the hell out of
me). I'm having to go back to all those weird, awkward moments from
when I was a kid. That's a time when you have to find your own way
in a world where you have almost no say in what goes on in your own
life, the people who have power of life and death over you have a set
of priorities that they created long before you ever showed up, and
everything from doorknobs to grocery shelves are designed for people
who are six inches to a foot taller than you. Childhood has been
romantisized in our culture into some magical, beautiful period in
our lives when the world is fresh and beautiful and there's no lesson
so hard that we can't get through it. I'm sure someone, somewhere,
grew up in a place like that, but the more people I meet, the more I
think that childhood is when spirits are broken and psychopaths learn
just how well they're going to fit in. We all go through that
period, and then we selectively scrub our memories of it until we're
left with something we can tell ourselves and other people.
That's what I need to capture.
In the middle of writing this, Diamond started whining, which we've
figured might be her signal for 'Could I step outside for a moment?
I have some business to attend to.' I was only planning on taking
her out into the backyard, but right now it's cool and misty out,
with something that's not quite fog thickening up to the point where
anything farther than a block away is hidden in soft gray clouds. I
grabbed her leash and we both took a tour of the neighborhood while
her toe nails clicked on the sidewalk, and every other sound was
muted by the mist. Beautiful.
To end this on a cheery note, if I can get this to work right, I'll
be posting a picture of our new dog right here. She's a big, furry
lump of woof, and she's dozing in front of my desk while I'm writing
this.
Still writing.
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