I am eating Wisconsin cheese curds, drinking cold brew coffee (honey caramel flavor if you must know), and trying very hard to get a lot of things accomplished. I have already
finished eating three blueberry pancakes that had been in deep freeze until my microwave admirably performed its duty.
But I have done more than these eating and drinking things I have mentioned. I have set up events on the Facebook for places I will be where real people such as yourself can come and see me and talk to me and purchase my books for themselves, their friends, their acquaintances, and their enemies. You can see these events by clicking here. Note that some of these events will be in a future year, 2020, the year we all gain perfect eyesight as well as hindsight.
I have also looked at photos of myself from my brother’s wedding in October in Chicago. I’m beautiful! Well, let us just say I was somehow able to clean up nicely for the wonderful festivities. Except that was the day my Jerry Garcia tie was ignited. To
allay your deepest fears, no person was harmed in the blazing accident, which only left a small burn hole on the back of the tie. And the burning tie odor quickly dissipated.
I think I should have accomplished more this morning, but alas, I am sad. Perhaps
despondent even. This is because I have had to rewrite a very nice scene in my book because I am an idiot (eejit for my Irish friends). Yesterday, for reasons only known to the interior of my computer, I lost two days worth of work on “3 Months in Dublin.” The file containing Section B of the aforementioned said novel in progress suddenly was missing all the edits I made on it yesterday. Even more ghastly, though, was the missing of the brilliantly written scene of JP Sharpe in a combination record store/coffee shop in Dublin, where he learned the history of the
band from Sligo, Those Nervous Animals (you simply must look the lads up).
Last night, after supper, I noticed the error of my ways and tried to correct it, without success. After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I rewrote the missing part, though I am not sure it is as brilliant as it was when it was first written. I will warn you that the record store man uses salty language. And there is quite a twist in the proceedings. But I still must go through the other ten pages of said Section B, re-editing and rewriting, work that I did yesterday only to have it vanish in a poof of sadness and despair.
I sense your concern, and I am assuming it is genuine. I have also learned how to properly back up my work more often and in many ways.
As an aside, Section A is now brilliant. And 59 pages long. And ten chapters, some with entertaining titles, such as “This Dude Likes Football!” and “Candy Bars and Treasure” and “Baked Beans for Breakfast?” My goodness, the chapter titles alone will make this book one you will want on your coffee table.
So, let’s see. What else? Oh, I have not done my planks in four days, I have gained six pounds since quitting my day job two months ago, I have half my Christmas shopping done, and I have prepared the snowblower just in case we receive copious amounts of flakes.
Many tasks to do (in addition to the writing tasks). One of them is to call back the nice man from the place that has my retirement account so I can disassociate it from my previous employer. He probably hates me for not returning messages yet, but this has not the top priority yet.
Tonight, I shall go to the Artcraft Theatre to see one of the nation’s foremost author
illustrators of children’s books, Jan Brett. She has more than 41 million books out there in the world! My wife, Kimberly S. Hoffman, also a children’s author, will accompany me, as will my stepdaughter who works at the library. My wife and I are just a tad short of 41 million books sold at this point. It’s not for lack of effort, I am telling you.
And this, my friends, is the end of this tirade. Perhaps I will pontificate more at you in the future. Perhaps I shall make this a habitual thing where I share things with you. Perhaps it will become a full-blown newsletter. But first, I need to fix “3 Months in Dublin.”
Wail, wail, gnash, gnash, sob.