I live in the past. I take everything that has happened to me and arrange it. From a distance like that, it doesn’t do any harm, you’d almost let yourself be caught in it. Our whole story is fairly beautiful. I give it a few prods and make it a whole string of perfect moments. Then I close my eyes and try to imagine that I’m still living inside it. – Jean Paul Sartre
First off, Forest Life is still ten percent off on Amazon, for those of you who haven’t purchased it yet. I’ve just wrapped on the Tabula Rasa novella, and I will be working on a new script for the story to deliver it in another medium, but I must remain nebulous regarding that project for now. In the meantime, I can say that I’ve begun work on my next literary novel, which will take me two-thousand miles through Mexico into San Gervaiso. I will break the recent shackles of domestication to research the novel and I’m looking forward to documenting the journey for everyone.
This post is mostly an opportunity for me to share some free prose that I’ve been jotting down in my notebooks. I know it can be rather lengthy between my projects so I’m going to attempt to share more writing on here to fill the void. Enjoy.
The rain fell most of the night. We slept on the floor. In the wake of wailing wind, the dusky dark, I watched you breathing. And when I woke I worried about the little ones, swept away by the junky and the conman, and we held out as long as we could, but they came to the house. It was money that they wanted. In the candlelit dark, the static hummed. We watched I love Lucy reruns on the television with the tinfoil wrapped around the antenna, wrapped in a scarlet blanket. We scooped noodles and broth from a plastic bowl.
You said, “I don’t ever want to leave this house. Let’s stay, just me and you.”
The thunderheads chased us as we drove away.