Editing is groundhog day (Winter 31 Notebook Page 1)

The 8th draft….

is kicking my ass and I’m mean. I don’t have much to say other than skin gets dry in the winter and writing a novel is real difficult. I fall asleep whenever I close my eyes. Case and Point….

woke up with shoes still on. It was a few hours later. I didn’t fold my laundry yet and slept on a pile of clean clothes. What’s the point? ha.

Some notes and what not

Inspiration from other dead writers.Brief notes and most of what I used this site for has been put on the typewriter so ill get to that some other time. Wrote a real good piece on F.D.R and how america couldn’t exist without its literary lore…

 I don’t know when my book will be done. Maybe when my beard is down to my toes.

was talking about death of a writer theory and I couldn’t do it. I said, I’m not in the coffee-house. It doesn’t matter.

A Character from my novel is a man named Babushka. He’s an agent who lives with his parents in the rich suburbs. He wears sweat pants with sports jackets. He has an office in downtown Chicago that looks likes it’s the eighties still. Metal fans and dusty sunlight. Here’s a conversation the hero Henry Oldfield had with him….


My pal asked me about my top three, and if I took anything specific from Camus, Miller, and Kerouac? I said…

I could probably write a huge paper on this so…

Camus, humanistic philosophy in the face of the absurd, story telling from the individual approach, going macro but always collapsing inward, anti death penalty and con man religion, but always holds nostalgia for the water and hometown when detached from savagery. Henry Miller, vagabond writer/artist, do what you want and learn how to trust yourself, so then, you can just do and not worry about the consequences, combining the novel with philosophy bursts of art. Writing is art. Kerouac, spontaneous style to capture poetics, discipline, accept loss forever, the beat, create underlining musical score when people read it….

Oh and all my books are 40 percent off until they’re not. 

click on banner below if interested or just to check out. You do get free shipping right now so It’s about the best time to get one of these objects. And so it goes. Thank you for reading. I’ll be gone for a week or longer…

Going South. I got to see the sun for a while. Somewhere around smokys…Peace.


New typing machines #8 (Remington Quiet-Riter)


What now? And this is what I said…

For some reason I Knew I was supposed to get out of the house today. I was looking for a nice old stove top coffee metal tin maker but didn’t find that. Words done and feeling tired. The snow coming down and something was calling my name, and after what happened to baby blue and the horrific patio incident, in where someone decided to give themselves a five finger thievery (alley people I bet still) I’ve been hunting on a bus boy salary. One thing I’ve learned is good things happen to writers when they’re not in the town on a lake, and I have a few workman-like heavy duty electronic typewriters, but it’s not the same. I’m more of a folk singer than a grunge rocker. I prefer the acoustics of the tap tap tap when not plugged in. This new Remington Quiet-Riter (works great too) I found it for fifteen dollars at the rehab thrift store. I was asked “what you going to do with that?” “Write a damn book lady.”  Once again, All is good and that means something  not so good is about to happen. Whatever. Bring it. Karma is a river that’s made out of ink. I already wrote the story. I just have to retrace my steps.  (no. I have no clue what that means…lol.)