With the engine warming up, I took a small hand towel from the glove box and dried off my bald head. Once settled, I pulled my car out onto Baker Street and drove west along the levee, following its contour.
On top of the levee, I drove to the breach and sat enraged for the remainder of the night, periodically turning on my headlights to watch millions of gallons of water pouring through the wrong side. Several times I felt for my gun.
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Later this morning I will be sending the Biker Bob #4 manuscript off to the editor, other than writing, editing is one of the biggest hurdles in the process of getting a book into print. It should be back in a few weeks, then entering the edits, formatting and resolving the book cover. After that off to the printer. No guarantees, but now I’m looking at mid summer with book in hand.
Wish me luck.
NIK
Geek-boy nodded toward the windshield. “I’d say it’s out of the question.”
“Let me out at the next corner.” Although I didn’t want to, my voice had telltale nervousness to it.
He pointed out the window of our bobbing Volkswagen. “There is no next corner. It’s only water.”
“Just let me out.”
He shrugged. “Where would you like to be let out?”
“Right here. I can’t be in this car any longer.”
I wanted to get out for the entire time the two of us had been bumping along from housetop to telephone pole. What had it been ten hours? I wanted to remove myself from the floating coffin in the first ten minutes. Continue reading
My mother passed some months back and behind her she left 1500 pages of her life story. Slowly, I have been editing those pages and sending them to my siblings and the process has inspired me to follow in her footsteps by writing in chronological order things I can remember. As they unfold, once in a while I will post one of the better vignettes like the following. If you like what you have read, notes of encouragement will go a long way in getting me to post more.
I felt different after the romping with the Greek God. Something inside shifted. I had, in one fell swoop, in a single night, maybe in a nanosecond, fallen head over heels in love with the centaur and at that point I still didn’t know his name.
It took the rest of the week and another sixteen assignments before I put my finger on it. I talked to no one except Sylvia about what happened and even her I didn’t tell about the love part. I was embarrassed to be longing after a man because I had for so long been Yamelda, the-ice-queen, Keating, mixer in only the highest circles, talker to only the shakers and movers. I’d been sought after from Saint Louis to San Francisco, but in my eyes they’d all been wimps. I was a virgin to love and the Greek God was my first.
Oh, I had it big time and it all started with the wild morning after the flood when I gave him that black eye and cracked one of his ribs. Continue reading