Piece by Piece

I've spent most of the morning killing mosquitoes and working on my script. I came alive in the middle of last night to do a page or two of the novel. Scripts are these trysts. Books are these love affairs. I'll always be more of a lover than a one-night stand artists, but when it comes to paying the bills sometimes you have to be the type to slither out under the cover of night in favor of the next thing.

Shoutout to Gonzales for the lookout on Color Lines, a culture and politics mag that's also going to be featuring fiction. I'm also looking to reassemble the band that never was, the group of writers, photographers and designers I had on-board when I was due to run that magazine that must not be named. I think we're going to do big things down the line, but for now I've gotta do the scribe work to create the platform to make it all possible.

I would liken what I'm doing now to the month Uma Thurman spent tuning up here swordplay in Kill Bill. After four years in a coma you gotta get back to basics, strip things down to their buck naked essence and see what you're working with, especially as your new targets aren't as...circumspect as the old ones. So I'm trying to create something for everyone, a quiver filled with arrows of all types tailor-made for each particular bullseye.

I'm hoping that my quickly approaching Jesus year will be the perfect wave to ride into the next dimension, a karmic severance check for agreeing to go on this vision quest without any further resistance. I will undoubtedly find myself more annoyed than I ever was in books. Today I'm just a writer with a daily quota for what he has to accomplish. Maybe tomorrow I'll be king for a day. Out.