Dreading Monday more than usual

I haven't mention it here, but I'm slated to be interviewed Monday morning by the production company behind the "Women Behind Bars" series on WEtv. Not only that, but their last request was that I stick with them throughout the afternoon and serve as a guide to all the sites pertinent to the story they are doing.

As luck would have it, they are constructing a program featuring Teresa Deion Harris, a woman serving life without parole in the Tennessee Department of Corrections. Yes, the same Deion Harris who participated in the murder of Dennis Brooks, Jr. -- and the crime I'm writing the book about. So, while I'm not real up on doing this kind of thing, I saw it as perhaps an excellent opportunity to work in a plug for my upcoming book -- which is about a third through its first revision at this point.

I think the young lady producer thought I was joking when I told her I had a face more fitting for radio and a voice better suited to telegraph. I'm not really comfortable doing these on-camera things, as anyone who has seen me do a video poetry reading can well attest. It's just not my thing.

But, I shall try to get through it best as I can. Complicating things, especially questions that may arise, is the fact that a couple days ago I discovered a huge discrepancy in the scenario of the murder as played out both in statements and testimony. In short, I (and apparently every other writer who covered the case, along with all the lawyers involved) missed one tiny little fact that makes the accepted version of what happened impossible.

I'm not going to get into what it is at this point, but suffice to say I will try to get in touch with one of the investigators on the original case this weekend and certainly will have to clarify this problem before the book is published. It's just another one of those unexpected hassles that always seem to complicate things.

We don't get WEtv on our local cable system. However, my brother gets it on his Dish satellite and he will record it for me whenever the show comes on, which will be somewhere down the road; possible after the first of the year and fairly in sync with my book. That would be a stroke of good fortune, indeed.

Do it to it

Well, it's time to fish or cut bait. I've managed to delay the distasteful as long as possible. The company is gone. The house is as clean as it gets. That goddamn manuscript is resting in pieces on a hard drive and it's calling my name.

Jazzbo? Jazzbo? Where forth art thou, Jazzbo?

I'm right here, you son of a bitch.

It's time to get back to work, Jazzbo.

Screw you!

You've been saying that for a month and a half. You're running out of time, dummy.

Do I look like somebody that gives a rat's ass?

It's early, don't ask what you look like. And I haven't had my breakfast.

I've got a mirror, mamahumper.

That's unfortunate. Maybe you could avoid it?

Fuck you!

Don't you wish. Anyway, you should consider getting back to work.

Why should I?

It's what people do.

Why?

To become rich, famous and successful, of course. Don't you want to be all that?

No. I'd rather be poor, unknown and a failure.

Well, you can stop working then. You have met all your goals.

I'm glad we agree on something, that you see my point.

I couldn't avoid it . . . it's right there on top of your big jug head.

Get outta here, mother fucker!

I'm going, I'm going, don't get excited and start brandishing firearms!

Just go.

OK, but just don't blame me when you fail again.

I'm going to work dammit, just leave me alone. I'll get it done.

No shit?

No shit, Sherlock. I'm going right now, see?

Wow, you're really gonna open that file up and do something, eh?

You bet your ass I am.

Very well, I'll quit distracting you.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Now shut the fuck up and get out of here.

Adios, amigo.

Stick that finger up again and I'll break it!

Reviewing the situation

This little rough patch I've hit with the revision efforts may be all for the better. It's a good opportunity to remind myself that a writer is working all the time, even if the fingertips aren't caressing a keyboard.

In fact, a great part of the process goes on between the ears during periods of disconnect; that's assuming one still has some gray matter in there to process those most subtle of realignments and adjustments. I think I do, though I'd be the first to admit that it doesn't work on par with the gourd glob of years past. But there are still a couple of synapses firing a message or two.

I was sitting here a few minutes ago mentally beating and berating myself for not being hunkered over the laptop with that file open, accomplishing something. But truth is, when I push myself into something I'm not ready and willing to tackle, the end product might well be "de-accomplishment."

Yeah, I know that word doesn't exist, but who cares. It describes what I mean, thus it works well enough. You know what they say about rules.

I've got a good basic framework established for the murder book. Most of the key things are there. All it needs at this point is some fine tuning . . . cuts for brevity in places, an addition here and there to clarify a point. It's basically a done deal.

But of course, anyone who has ever written a book of any kind knows that you could go on forever with it. You never finish, you just stop at some point, after a half dozen rewrites of this and that.

Many times you can get a clearer reading by bouncing it off a disinterested third party, see if it flies with them. That works much better with fiction than non-fiction, however, because the third party doesn't have benefit of the facts you have and thus has no way of knowing if you're spot on about details. You can get a good reading on the general tone of things, which is what counts; most of the people who read it won't know if the facts are correct either.

Hopefully, one has a sense of integrity sufficiently refined to make certain the factual material is correct. Unless you're a politician, you will never gain anything by propagating outright lies and half-truths. They will come back and bite your butt at some point.

So, I took a sober look at things this morning. There is more time remaining until the end of the year than it took to originally write the book. Time wise, I'm in good shape.

There are lots of things to worry about, but this isn't one of them.

Little "going forward" (hate that BS term)

Wish I could report (not that anybody gives a rat's ass) that the revision work is zooming along and I am near completion. I could report that, but it would be a damned big lie.

Truth is, I haven't opened the file in several days. However, I have not abandoned the project and it will get done eventually, by the time I said it would. I've just had a lot of other things on my mind that have taken my attention away temporarily.

At least I have my travel reservations made now. I'll leave Nashville November 17 for San Diego and come back December 8. Three weeks should be long enough for a good visit.

I recall the good old days of air travel when one could board a plane and then get off it at the destination. That doesn't seem to be the case in many instances nowadays. On the outbound flight, I had a choice of layovers and switches in Atlanta, Charlotte, NC, Detroit or Minneapolis.

Screw the first two, because that's traveling east to go west and the total time of the trip was way too long. Detroit was out because I don't particularly want to get robbed, stabbed or shot while I wait to get the hell out of Dodge. So, I'll be spending about an hour and a half in Minnesota before I load up for the Golden West. That should give me ample time to smoke a half pack and drink a couple of $10 beers.

Returning requires a side trip to Cincinnati and an hour and a half layover before I get back to Nashville. Arriving around 8:30 in the evening is going to place a burden upon whomever I can con into retrieving me.

Another thing that mystifies me is why it costs about 50-percent more to fly out of Memphis to the same destination. The connections certainly are no better, and from here the distance to the two airports is just about equal. If I could have gotten a nonstop out of Memphis I would have gladly paid the difference, however.

This rotten weather hasn't contribute much to a sense of well-being or a desire to do anything. It's been about 20-degrees below the normal highs for this time of year, gloomy and wet. Staring out at the gloom through the window to my right makes me want to draw the shade, but at least the rain has stopped for now.

If this portends what's to come, we're in for a much nastier winter than we've had in recent years, though last winter made a good start in that direction.

At least it will make the natural gas company happy.

Flexible plans

Damn, I had planned to go to the VFW tonight and have what we call a "big time" down south. You know you've had that when you wake up with your clothes on inside out and vomit on your brogans. However, woke up coughing this morning and with a nose so blocked I can hardly get any oxygen. It's not noon yet and it might clear up before 7 or so, but if it doesn't that pretty much kicks my plans in the ass. Oh well, the best laid plans of mice and men . . . and Jazzbo, eh.

I haven't had any sort of cold or flu in five years. I remember that well because the last time I told someone that, five years ago, I woke up the next morning with a horrible case of flu; talk about irony, it was thick then. So I'm probably risking sickness again even by commenting that I haven't had those bugs for five years. Not bad for an old asshole who thinks three packs of smokes and a 12-pack is healthy living.

It probably is, considering I used to smoke five packs a day and drink a quart of whiskey. I've calmed waaaaaaaaaaaay down.

The book revision is not coming along worth a damn. I'm just into it in fits and starts, can't get a handle on what I need to do. I should have been working on it this morning; I got up at 5. But hell, I decided the kitchen curtains needed washing so I did that instead. You can imagine how bad something is when you forestall it by laundering fucking curtains!

Right now, I'm watching the Vols and Georgia go at it. It's 7-0 Vols in the opening stanza, but that's meaningless, can change in a hurry. (Before I could finish, Georgia ran a kickoff all the way back to even the score. See what I was talking about?) Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass if they win or not. Well hell, that's not exactly true; I hope they win, but I won't be upset if they don't.

I've gotten to that point where I don't expect anything of them, which is a good point to arrive at if you're a football fan in Tennessee. I'm just sayin' . . . .

Time flies

It just dawned on me that it was three years ago yesterday that I set out on that long 2,300-mile road trip to shoot video of the poets reading. Time has certainly flown since then, though that immediate year afterward was a long one, as I struggled to try to do something with all that footage.

Of course, it turned out to be a failure of major proportions, a waste of time and money -- a great part of that money somebody else's. Part of the failure was found in the restrictive nature of simply videoing people in static locations, motel rooms, homes. There's nothing going on but the reading of poetry, and a tad of discussion.

Another part of the failure was in my lack of knowledge as to the technical requirements of making such a documentary. I did the best I could, but that wasn't good enough. I learned a lot during the process, however, mainly about what not to do. I could do a better one today, but of course I never will try something like that again.

I think about four people who were in the video liked it. I heard something from a couple more, mainly that they'd received it. The other half didn't even have the common courtesy to even mention it period, so I have to assume they got their copies. But that's about par for the Small Press.

All that said, I enjoyed the trip and meeting those I hadn't met, and seeing those I had again. Everybody was nice and pleasant and it was a good experience. I'm not sorry I did it, I just wish it had turned out better.

Rainy Sunday

Another rainy, dismal Sunday down South. Watching the Titans attempt to play football only amplifies the feeling of impending doom, as they are surely getting their asses royally kicked by Jacksonville. What can I say. . .only a true masochist can stand to follow the Titans and the Vols. It's good practice in the event we're ever taken captive by Al Qaeda, or waterboarded by the CIA. Maybe they should just forget those tactics and make the captives watch films of the Titans and Vols in action. That would be real punishment. And probably against international law, come to think of it. Talk about inhumane treatment. . . .

Anyway. I've got to get my ass in gear tomorrow and start accomplishing something. A couple weeks off, except for a little novel revision, and I'm growing worthless as tits on a boar hog. The only thing laziness breeds is more laziness. I've developed a fairly good work ethic in recent months and I sure as hell don't want to blow it all at this point simply because I hit a lazy spot. I needed some time away from the story, but I may have overdone it.

What the hell. The charcoal in the grill under my porch roof is getting very near to craving the fat on the big steak I'm about to throw on it. The baked potato is waiting in the foil for some butter and sour cream. This first beer I just cracked is mighty good.

Things could be a hell of a lot worse.

Dreading it

It was two weeks ago yesterday that I wound up the rough of the murder book. In the ensuing time, I've worked some on revising the novel (about half finished with that) and that's about it. I had planned to start revision on the non-fiction yesterday but decided to let that slide a few more days.

The big problem with taking time off between (or during) projects is the loss of momentum. It's bound to happen, although one can't go at break-neck speed constantly. You get into a rhythm and a routine and the words flow day after day. You can break that routine for a day or so without too much impact. But let a week go by and you're an inert object, sitting there wondering what you will do next. And when.

Of course, the good news is that the fire can be found again. It's not an immediate process, however. It takes several days of bumbling along to find the real groove, the place where you can slip back in and start to make sense of things. You get to the place where the big picture, the end game, comes back to mind again.

Getting fired up to do revision is worse for me, because I hate it. And I probably have less of it to do than some folks, because, as a former news writer, I know how to "edit on the fly" somewhat. I didn't utilize that skill to its fullest with this murder book, however, because I was more interested in getting the basic framework of it down as quickly as I could. And now I have to suffer for that decision -- which is justice, I suppose.

If I can work on it a couple hours a day I can knock it out soon enough. I've got a visitor coming in a couple weeks, so that will have an impact on what I do. And I have the trip coming up next month, which will also have a bearing on things.

Ah, what the hell. I'll get it done when I can. I'm not punching a time card or on a railroad schedule. That's a damned good thing, too.