I've been feeling just like that little overachieving train engine as of late. Except for the most part I've felt more like it did at the beginning of the book when the engine was full of doubt and pessimism. One freight car after another has been piling on until me caboose was lagging so far behind I couldn't even see it.
I've been repeating the mantra ... I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, but only today have I finally began to believe it.
Of course nothing makes a writer happier than to see a piece of their work find a home. I recently had a humorous memoir-esque story accepted by Opium Magazine. Today that story, titled The Hard Way is up for public consumption on their website. Here is the direct link to my story. You can even leave a comment so good or bad let me know what you think.
In other news on the writing front I gave my first ever talk about the craft of writing last Friday. My audience was a group of fifth-graders at the school where my wife teaches. I was a bit nervous that I would be met with eye rolls and sighs of boredom, but from the very get go the kids were enthusiastic and full of questions. A few of them might have been thinking who the hell is this big hairy fat guy and what gives him the right to teach us about writing, but mercifully they disguised those sentiments of they were there. Actually they were all great and I wish I could have talked longer. They eagerness was contagious and afterwards I was pumped up to sit down at the computer and get to work. One of these days I'd love to be in a position to talk at writers conferences and what not. But then again I'm the kind of guy who loves to talk whether it be from behind a podium or from a bar stool. Ask Robin, I cornered her at last year's Frontiers In Writing Conference and she hasn't quite escaped hearing from me yet.
Along with the novel about the woman whose life is being ruined by sex (better known to most of you as my bull semen story) I am now working on a new creative non-fiction project. A sort of a memoir based on my old feedstore chronicle stories (the link is to Chronicle #1, but the tag at the bottom of it will take you to the others) which I posted on here a year and half or so ago. Actually, I will be taking those posts down very soon so if you haven't read them this might be your last chance for a while.
Plundered Booty is out on submission and has had a few nibbles, but I really need to get my act together and get more queries out.
And even though I've rambled quite a bit already I am going to share one of the weirdest dreams I've ever had with you. I dream vividly most nights and I usually remember these crazy nocturnal illusions but this one really seems strange. I'd love to hear what a psychologist or dream analyzer would say about this one ...
I reached up to scratch my ear and the entire thing came off in my hand. In a panic I called the doctor and after hours of trying finally got through. He told me to met him at his office so he could sew my ear back on, but by the time I got there it had dried up and taken on the texture and brittleness of a pork rind. Sure enough, I accidentally broke a big chunk of the middle portion and when i reached for the piece it crumbled like dust in my hand. But my doc said not to worry he had a way to fix it. He sewed the now funky looking ear back onto my head and then reached for a small blown glass Woody Woodpecker figurine. Somehow he glued the glass Woody Woodpecker into the hole of my ear and it fit perfectly. I was happy as a clam to leave his office whit my Woodpecker adorned new ear.
Come on guys, give me your input what the heck was that all about. And before you ask, No I had not been smoking or ingesting any narcotics, I had not had a single drop of alcohol and I had Canadian Bacon pizza for supper.
So give me you best analysis, and don't forge to go read my story in Opium.