I woke up at 2:41, 3:29, & 4:06 a.m.s, respectively. The weekend was filled with events and obligations that, if I were so inclined, would more than satisfy my 500 word a day promise. But, no. I don’t want to write 500 word replays of every boring moment of my weekend. It wasn’t boring to me, but it’ll bore the click button out of you. I know it. Often I wonder why people write page after page about what movies they watched, how much beer they drank or what some random stranger (to the reader) said over dinner last night. Bite me right there in the ass but don’t tell me about your damn weekend.

As I intermittently woke up this morning I felt as if in a dream where, instead of falling quickly, I was rising slowly. A circular wall hiccups down a tube lined with sandpaper, inched its way down towards me as I levitated like a balloon with enough air to float, but not enough to soar. The A/C helped relax me for brief spells before I pulled the cover back on, then off, then on. It’s demoralizing to lose sleep because your mind is obsessed with what will need to be done when you wake up. My mind kept saying, “Ok, you gotta get up at 5 am and do blah, take care of yadda, and make sure whatever gets done right. Don’t forget now. Get some sleep. But REMEMBER. Ok, relax now…turn the pillow over it’ll help.”

Red Hammer was on my mind so I rode by his house again. In reality there are four houses like his in my hometown. All sitting there, empty. I went by the spot where the story will end. I start with the end, usually. That’s the inspiration part. An image of an epiphany just shows up. Sparked by a song lyric, a story from my kids, the image and words arrive softly. It never lasts long so I write the last paragraph first, in my mind. I say it over and over to myself, wording and rewording it, saying it loud then soft. Then when I get a chance, usually at work, I write it out. After that, I create characters. Up to this point all the nouns are genders. There have been stories where the first few lines come to mind. When I write those out the ending usually surprises me. More often than not, the ending is “bad”. I put the obligatory ” ” around bad because thousands of stories have “bad” endings but are still excellent stories. Easyrider comes to mind.

Speaking of Easyrider a friend once commented that I reminded them of Dennis Hopper. Insult or compliment? I didn’t get an answer, really.
Billy the Kid, Paris Trout or that nut from Blue Velvet? Crickets. C’est la vie.

Fiction later. Right now a salesman keeps coming in here asking for distribution information. There is an implied blah in all professional references. Do you trust salesmen? Or salesperson for those pc types? I have trouble with it. I just don’t believe people can turn off their Bullshit Button that easy.

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