On occasion I’ll stumble into the shower and sit beneath the faucet with my eyes shut tightly. I’ll focus on the sound and feeling of droplets on my skin, and I’ll imagine various rainy days, dragged back to foggy recollection by the sensation of falling rain. Warm rain stirs up the smell of lavender and brief flashes of a minted blouse waving in the wind. I usually drift off to Langtree Estates, but on occasion I’ll return to the field in Cetaw where I ran like a child with Morgan behind me, afraid of snakes and mad with youth. It seems to me that it rained more in those days, or perhaps I only really notice the rain when I’m happy. I do love the rain.
At night I sit behind my small desk, the room dimly lit by a tall lamp beside my quiet-riter. I’ll turn on my familiar songs, the acoustic piano keys accompanied with a single violin. Sometimes I think about some God towering over humanity, watching the same film over and over, laughing as the damned ants make the same mistakes again and again. Some of my friends try to convince me to believe in their great mighty deity, and I concede that God may be great indeed to have created booze for us ants in his merciful foresight. That’s just the bourbon talking.
Before working on my manuscripts, I’ll burn through McCarthy and Hemingway, and I’ll close my eyes and breathe quietly to soak up the really good prose, in order to remind myself that I’m still a baby boy. I drink my American Honey straight from the bottle when it’s cold. It burns after a few moments, and I’ll cough gently so I don’t wake Aryn in the next room. I’ll smile before I begin typing because I know that the person I really am comes out when it’s time to sit down and hammer away on a keyboard. “There you are,” I’ll mumble, as I scribble down notes in my pocketbook, working out timelines and intentions. It’s the quiet scribbles of pen on parchment, and the soft tapping of keys that sound out so holy, and I often forget that I’m so cynical and sick inside.
I’m finishing up my work on Tabula Rasa, so my attention is turning to my next literary novel, which is a story about a terminal time traveler.
