Anyway, I wrote something a long time ago, that was pretty damned good, and it 'got lost' during the divorce, and it was really damn good, but it was a mix of both hand written and hand typed, and was thus, irreplaceable, and regardless, I lost any heart I might have had to get back on that horse. So, it died.
It appears that it has come back. I told you that this nasty little thing just comes to me, and yesterday it all just clicked, and came together, with the smoothness of a molar sliding out of a dead man's tooth socket:
This is the lost piece of that old, lost tale I wrote so long ago. The lost beginning I never wrote.
I was never happy with the beginning, and it vexed me. Now, I realize that I am writing the beginning I was unable (or unwilling) to write all those decades ago. And it clicks in to the empty socket flawlessly, and motors inside of old projectors, in dusty long-forgotten rooms began to whir, and the webbing fell away from old film reels, pulleys began to turn, and flickering light began to shine onto the walls of my mind the pictures of what I had filmed so long ago, and...
...the current DVD I have been making, all shiny and new, is totally, amazingly, backwards compatible with the old stuff.
And I have mourned that other story, its death, for a long time. Too long. It gives me a pinch of fear, in a way, to see it pulling itself up and out of its grave, but there is a wild thrill there, too, which far outweighs the fear.
I believe I am going to do this. Can't say how much I'll put up. Maybe all of it. You can't steal it, it's not for sale (yet) and you can't write it yourself. I'm confident of that.
One of my dreams has been to make a book full of characters that the reader genuinely cares about, and cries, or screams, or both when they're threatened with death. Nobody should be safe in a book. Everybody dies. Sometimes they don't, but that is not for either the author or the reader to decide. You have no idea how much I admire J.K. Rowlings decision to kill off her beloved main character.
So, I shall endeavor to endeavor, and if you come along for the ride, I promise to steep your brain like a teabag in horror and pain and suffering just as hot as I can make it, and I do not like weak tea.
There may be some redemption in there, too. Some hope. Oh, just about as much as the Real World gives us...
So, look out. When I say duck, you better duck motherfucker, and don't come crying to me when you get any of it on your face.
You have been warned...
Okay, here it is. I may do separate posts, or just add to the end of it, according to my whim and my whimsy. Or I may just get sick of it and let it die. I wish I knew how to do one of those 'Read More' thingies in Wordpress. Oh, you can just click on the link over there near the top of my blogroll, too. I think I have comments moderated over there, so...
This is raw, unedited writing. I (kinda) spellcheck as I write, but this is pure, unadulterated first draft. I may or may not tinker with it. I may or may not let you see it. I will print it out in its current form, every so often, and send it to myself as a certified letter, and leave it unopened until such a time I get rich in court from some potential future thieving dumb-ass.
Have fun, and:
Do Not Read This…
...and furthermore, while we're on the subject of Wordpress, what's with all the fucking comment spam there? I mean, they do a good job of stopping it and not bothering me with it, but once a month or so I have to go in and delete about a hundred rape and horse-cock and tranny surprise spams...family incest seems to be popular, though it does have me wondering what other kinds of incests there are there out there...hmmmmm.
I tried using a blog I thought I had set up on Blogger for just this sort of thing, called 'Bad Story', which would have been perfect, but I set up the post, no problem in the editor, and then it couldn't post it because my template was empty and I went and checked and, well no shit. Nothing there at all.
Crap. Oh well.