Over the past few weeks, the seasonable but felt otherwise weather set off a perfect storm of neuropathy pain. Days and weeks of pain intense enough to make sleeping or even eating nearly impossible.
One of the interesting things about pain is that it messes with your sense of time. Ten seconds in a broken hot tub full of cold noodles stuck between Donald Trump and Andy Dick while they share a can of unheated Pork ‘n Beans with a crusty spork is going to seem a lot longer than ten seconds with the love of your life.
Since my scenario was far worse than anything I could joke about, even, possibly, the aforementioned scenario, I started writing. There was nothing specific in mind. Time went on. As I started letting myself ramble, I found a thread and ran with it. I have not written this easily since accidentally writing my first book in 2003.
The first draft is finished. I want to give it another go-over. By the time I send it down to Dear Old Dad for the first edit, the title will come to us. The How and the Tao of Old-Time Banjo and A Book of Five-Strings were titles I tossed into the air as a joke. God only knows what our banter will come up with for our eleventh book together.
More news will be released soonish. I’m not rushing this one.
Not to brag, but at 52 and in rough shape, it’s nice to know I can still churn out a competed work of this scope within a few days. I may be hurting and banged up, but I still have some good punches left in my mitts. I would like to say I’m like Rocky, but it’s more of a Princess Bride deal where I am only mostly dead in the winter. Inconceivable!
Be sure to take advantage of our Book Sale. Amazon takes too much of a cut. Buying direct helps us a great deal. I need some kind of wheelchair a heck of a lot more than Bezos needs to send more celebrities into space!