Writing another book. Most of it’s been written. Only need to do the hard part, which is go through it story by story, line by line, word by word to make sure it sings, it speaks, it streaks. That it does what it’s supposed to do. Even then there are no guarantees. It could fall flat. Be another stack of papers I stuff away in a desk drawer. But that’s okay. Getting the shit out gets me closer to the good. Ten pages of nothing usually yields one page of something. This book will be about 80 pages, so be prepared for eight pretty decent pages. I hope you’re as excited as I am. Once this thing is done, I want to have a signing in Alpena. Maybe at Thunder Bay Winery. The one I had there a few years back for CUTTING TEETH went well. I like wine. I like books. I like people that like wine and books.
The wind is crazy. Full of energy tonight. Big bulky clouds floated across the sky as I watched my daughter practice jumps and flips and spins on the trampoline. The enormous, billowy monsters had orange and pink bellies as they crept over the horizon. Thunder grumbled. But my daughter—growing up and away from me each day—kept at it. Springing around even as sprinkles turned into big cold drops.
“We can try again tomorrow,” she said.
I got to watch my boy play soccer tonight. It was only practice. I was a hundred yards away, parked in the back parking lot of the high school. The sun was blinding as it fell down into my line of sight. But I squinted. Pulled the sun visor down in the car and watched.
My pulse quickens when his foot touches the ball. My adrenaline rushes when he kicks his body into high gear and blasts down the field.
The kid is kinetic. Fluid and quick. I know, I know, he IS my son and I am biased, but seeing him out there on the field makes me happy because I can feel how much he loves it.
I can’t wait for this weekend when his season begins.
Nights like this. When I haven’t got much to say, but I know that I need to do this. Just pound away at the keys for a little bit.
Get clear. Refocus. Release.
That’s why I do it, I guess. Why I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.
These letters. This punctuation. They are my soccer field. They are my trampoline.