Truth is always stranger that you know what

Stranger than fiction:
In my current WIP, tentatively titled Festival Madness, I have a character flying around in an ultra light trike with the wing painted like a monarch butterfly. These scenes take place at the Burning Man festival, and so the butterfly seemed just believable. This morning, still abed from a late (but sober) evening, Significant Other brings the NY Times to me and says something to the effect that part of my book has hit the news. This would have been about the last plot point I’d ever guess. And everything will stay in the book like it was. Damn! Thought I was being so original. On the front page is a photo and article about an ultra light trike painted like a monarch you know what.

Short story finally finished. I will submit it to the MWA anthology. Me and all the big guns of the mystery writing world. I like the story, in which I seem to be channeling my father’s voice much of the time. The most difficult part was where I had to figure out how to get animals to speak in a way that wouldn’t go off into magical realism. My secret, so far. Not sure if I'll leave it in. Maybe I will write a children’s story using the same theme. Ah, the things one can do.

The house we sold two and a half years ago is on the market for 250,000 more than our price. The people put in a new kitchen, opened up the downstairs and gussied things up. Now the couple is splitting and I feel so sorry for their two little kids. When I was small, and almost all marriages stayed intact, I remember that mention of the word “divorce” made me sick to my stomach. And my folks never came close to splitting. I also remember in Bible School (which always took place the week after regular school was out) it suddenly dawned on me about the crucifixion and what this actually was and also how we were all doing to die, and this evoked the same emotion as the word “divorce.” I think the female half of the couple who bought our place, an alpha female of the first order should have stayed in the work force. Not everyone belongs home with the kids.

Speaking of alpha females, we fed the cows and old mama still doesn’t like anyone to get the treats but her. She knows how to use those horns, even on the brown baby who is now also interested in the handouts. The little herd has new member, a young bull with good manners and a sweet face. He came to the fence with the others. Did they tell him? I am still learning cow culture. The whole wheat bread was a big hit. Scallion tops are the last to be eaten, but eaten they are. Highland Scottish cattle are cool.

Drama at the bus stop.
Every morning I drive by some kids waiting for the school bus, six in all. Three are junior high girls, all the same height. Two of them exclude the third, a pretty girl who is standing there by herself, sucking it up, so to speak. A young boy is also alone, ignored by two other boys. The two “exclusive” girls are always moving about, doing cheer leading stuff or some such activities. I want to yell out the car window, “in ten years you won’t even remember this!” but of course, I don’t.

My writing group has been back and forth over the big murder scene in Festival Madness. Question for the 3 people who read this blog. What would fresh blood feel like if you stepped in it on a sidewalk on a cool night? If you didn’t know it was blood, what would you think you had stepped in? This is a pop quiz.

Back to work. Boring…..

Oh yeah, two more rejections for Promiscuous Mode yesterday. I am starting to get a few sort of personal letters. Is this a good sign? The rejections are getting better? Suck it up a little less?

Phooey.


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