Hmmmmm

Damn, but I hate the whole revision process! It's like going over old ground I have already visited too much and seeing a bump or two in the roadway that I didn't notice the first time around. It's very necessary to patch those potholes, but I can't pretend there is any pleasure to be found in the process. There's no great sense of accomplishment attached to it. It's like scut work, cleaning up the kitchen after the chef is finished shaking the pots and pans.

Of course, I'm working on the novel now; the non-fiction is on the back burner for a week or two, until the time is ripe to tackle it. I dread it with a passion -- if this fiction drives me nuts to revise, the murder story will be ten times worse. I would almost as soon be water-boarded. But again, I know that it must be done so I will do it. I'll curse and growl and kick all the way, though.

I'm not in a good mood. This weather is partially to blame. Who in fuck wants to see rain day in and day out? Bleak skies, clouds. It gets old in a hurry, this crummy weather. And fall officially appeared about two hours ago, a fact that does little to quell the aggravation I feel. It's like anticipating the end of the world on this eastern edge of the alluvial plain. That is what it looks like in the deepest dark bleakness of winter.

Ah, what the hell. Two months from today I will be basking in the moderate weather of Imperial Valley, CA., unless the plane crashes en route. With my luck that might be very possible. But if so, I'll be free of worry about revising shit in any case.

If not, well, we'll see. I had planned to stay a couple weeks through Thanksgiving, but if things keep going the way they are, I might stay all winter. Eat burritos, drink beer and get myself a medical marijuana prescription. Hell yeah!

I enjoyed being a Desert Rat back when I was one. I may be past that point now.

Finito

I wound up the Brooks book, or at least the first draft, last Wednesday at about 44,000 words. That was a bit sooner and fewer words than I had anticipated, but I decided it was somewhat pointless to go through 8 or 10 appeals hearings because they’re redundant, the same old thing time and again -- I did note one of them in depth and referred to those that came after. It’s actually not a big deal because they can appeal until the freaking cows come home and they will never gain release from prison. There are no grounds for reversal, no grounds for relief. They got a break actually.

I also didn’t have much to say about Deion Harris’ marriage in prison, other than to note it happened. The fool she married is claiming she is innocent and making all sorts of attempts to get her out of prison. They say love is blind -- in this case I’d say it’s also deaf and stupid.

The heartless bitch is right were she deserves to be. No. She should be in the graveyard after taking a ride on “Old Sparky,” which was still in use when those murderous cretins elected to slaughter young Mr. Brooks. In any case, I’ll have no part in promoting her marriage or anything to do with her. If some fool wants to marry the slut that’s his problem. They don’t even have conjugal visits in Tennessee, so he’s SOOL getting some of that nookie.

I'm letting the draft rest for a couple weeks before tackling revisions. In the meantime, I'm revising the "vampire" novel. But today, I'm watching football and will shortly be watching the Vols get their asses kicked in The Swamp.

I might wind up surprised, but I seriously doubt it. No matter. When you're a Vols fan in recent years, you get used to disappointment.

Brief update

Finished up the last of the trial stuff today at 41,000 words. Now, I have to cover all the motions for a new trial and the court appeals and such that have happened since the final conviction. Also have to pay a bit of attention to the fact that Harris has married a retired airline pilot while in prison and continues to seek freedom, although that's not going to happen.

There's way too much of that appeal BS, but the system is designed to make certain nobody innocent falls through the cracks. In a case like this one, it's all too evident that the three defendants were guilty as sin and, had justice really been served, would have been consigned to take a one-way ride on "Ol' Sparky" instead of wasting air and space today. I won't mention anything about wasting taxpayer money because it's much cheaper to house them for life than it is to execute them.

Anyway, I'm just looking forward to getting all these little ducks in a row and then taking a break before I begin the process of polishing this clump of rough stone into a shiny gem. It may never be that, but it will be better than it is at this moment for damned sure.

Then, I can go back to writing nice, easy fiction, where it makes less of a rat's ass if you're exactly correct or not.

Plugging along still

Been several days since I entered anything here and not a lot to report. Still plodding along on the book, although I'm taking the entire weekend off for a breather. But at the 30K mark and hope to be approaching 40,000 by this time next week; that may or may not happen, depending strictly up all the unforeseen shit that crops up in any span of time.

Truth is, I think I still have a tinge of hangover from Friday night's serious partying at the VFW. I haven't drunk any hard liquor in quite some time, but I had a few shots of tequila and Jim Beam with the suds and they didn't go over all that well. It was probably a good reminder to stay away from that stuff.

And no, I wasn't driving and the driver wasn't drinking. I won't say I'll never get thrown into jail again, but I'll say that it damned sure won't be for DUI--especially not on a holiday weekend, when those cops are out swarming like maggots on rotting road kill.

Anyway, it's great to drink somewhere you can still smoke because for me the two go hand in hand. I suppose the dictators will get around to banning it in private clubs sooner or later, they seem obsessed with controlling every moment of our lives nowadays.

(My brother showed up at this point about 2 hours ago and started mowing my yard. I didn't know he was coming but good to get it mowed--though my normal yard man may get pissed, but I've put off calling him because I heard he was sick. Anyway, mowing, trimming and all and while I didn't do much myself, my ass got worn out just out in the sun and heat.

It's beer thirty all of a sudden.)