Back At The Beach
Well, it sort of worked.
After a self-imposed break from all things even mildly intelligent or industrious, today I wrote a few hundred words in the new book I’m starting.
I so far only have about three pages, so I can’t say, “I’ve started” without feeling like I’m jumping the gun, but I’m in the process of starting it, and that’s a nice, light breeze to fly in right now.
It’s a book of short stories, something I’ve never written before, linked only by their location—a small town by the sea—and the fact that the local building inspector dies in each story. The tentative title is Killing Jim, but I’ll probably need to change that by publication since the local building inspector here in Provincetown is named Jim1, and I wouldn’t want to make passing endless inspections even more unlikely should he 1) be able to read, and 2) read the book.
Alice and I have been back at the beach for five days now, and it is wonderful to be home. While it’s been annoyingly cold and very blowy, we’re still taking multiple walks and beach romps a day, and Alice’s trash ingestion has gone down considerably without all the coed and wino detritus she’s been snacking on in the city all winter. She may have lost a pound or two, which, let’s face it, the Chonk could use.
Because I started feeling reenergized and less burdened I decided to ruin it up by signing up for a year-long Spanish course that requires me to attend live Zoom conversation meet-ups three times a week. Which I do accompanied by jellybeans, which the beagle feels are not being adequately shared.
Yes, this was a terrible idea, but it was expensive so I will at least stick with it for a while longer than I would normally. The lessons are good, the resources vast, but the teacher, a lovely woman named Laura, has a belief system that involves things like daily affirmations and journaling. I will be doing none of that, obviously. I’ve learned that if you stop dying your hair, and reach a certain age, you can claim confusion about things on the internet and people just give you a gentle, pitying smile and say, “That’s OK, you’ll get there eventually.”
This seems better than my blurting “Oh for fuck’s sake of course not” when asked if I’ve gotten to my daily affirmation logs.
“Ohhh… I thought I had. They’re not there?”
“That’s OK, I’ll help you figure it out next time we meet.”
Ma’am, you can’t believe what a slow study I can be.
Anyway, this what I’ve got laid out for the coming months: Spanish, Killing Jim2, several writing courses at the Fine Arts Work Center, a couple of webinars, and walks with the beagle, who ran into some witches on the beach the other morning.
It’s good I didn’t get her for protection.
I will also try to be a more reliable writer to you all. I appreciate you hanging in there as I reset.
Who very much needs killing
Not really, Your Honor
Highly unfortunate that his name is Jim. Because "Killing Jim" is an outstanding title. Sadly, it has a ring to it, a jivy jingle to it's cadence, and - maybe mostly - a simplicity that allows us grey-hairs to remember it. (Also, probably, most of us have a Jim to kill somewhere along the long road of our back-to-the-dinosaurs-time's worth of living.) But anyway, the article made me breathe (always a good sign in these oxygen-less times), and I look forward to the book, whatever it's title may become . . . try to make it easy to recall though. :-)
It's hard to believe you about the writing, considering your recent confession about the Journaling. But I do love what you actually do post!