The Tax Man Cometh

Arrrrgh! We've been doing the accountant's tax workbook for the last two days. Quite frankly, I think I would rather run around our neighborhood naked and barefoot in the snow being flogged by sumerian shepherds. It's that bad. No, it's worse. We always a) misplace some important docs, b) discover last year's dummheit this year, c) have hysterics, d) cry and e) soldier on. God, it's awful and every year it seems to get worse. When I calculated the paltry amount I made as a writer, I really wanted to cry and tear my hair and rend my garments. Tastefully, of course.

Snow covers the ground. The plowers managed to break just about every marker on the property, including the nice one we bought at the Ocean State Job Lot. It was flexible, with a nice red reflector on it, and wouldn't kill you if you tripped over it, which was was happened with the BIG UGLY STAKE last year.

So I now have a synopsis that fits on two pages double spaced. I guess it describes my book. It leaves out so much that the novel (World of Mirrors) seems eviscerated, without the cool characters and subplots and all the neat stuff. But it has a beginning, a middle, an end, and two plot points plus the "big gloom." So there.

I made spaghetti and meatballs tonight, and after the tax debacle, we consoled ourselves with chocolate brownies. Tomorrow I have to write a speech. A view from the slough. Four seasons of fauna . Does that sound O.K. ? Think it will be something I can deliver to the third grade as well as a room full of adults, but who cares?

I thought a lot about my next short story and am feeling a little weird writing it from a cat's point of view, but it seems right. Maybe it will be a children's story. I don't know. After the tax workbook, I only know my social security number and that I am unsuited for financial stuff.

Onward,

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