Posted on 1 Comment

5 days, 300 pages to go

is the unborn novel you are wondering about. Since when? Since I discussed with you that title and we talked about its existence. It was very clear the first time I connected it with a book. I had been using the term for a long time. So far I have managed to wash the title out of the story only to watch the tide bring it back in a roar I would have thought the Pacific Ocean was incapable of voicing. I mean how often does one get to hear the ocean do a baritone ‘harruhrump!’? and barf expectorantly, “you’re going to need this bucko.”

I have been unable to sit down and get lost in creating this tale. I have so many hurts going, some 24/7, that I feel like I have fibromialgia. I felt comfortable with a six week hiatus before my intended publishing date of June 13. Now I have five days; it looks impossible; to do in even six months.

Last night I gave way to fatigue before I even got clicking with the typing fingers. They only wanted to play the concert ukulele to NEVERTHELESS I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU. i gave up and slumped over and let the rain and thunder sleep tape whisk me off to a warm hole in the snow somewhere on Copenhagen shore near the mermaid. I was at such an insurmountable turn in the line that i did what I usually do in crisis moments: hand the problem to the background mind.

This morning I was already headed to the urologist to tell him the risks involved in the biopsy they wanted to perform. And far more importantly the brain popped up with the solution and it was positively mind blowing and world shaking i scat you not.

You can just address me as Back On Track Jack.
be well,
CanDo Jack