So the town remains quiet, as it likely will for quite a while. Still, it’s a writer’s compulsion, whether he writes fiction or poetry or something else, to tell readers, “Here is how the world looks today.”
Here is how the world looks today.
I had to pick up some prescriptions this afternoon, so I went to WalMart, getting there just before the pharmacists’ lunch break. One of them said hello. I returned the greeting, then asked if I should increase my regular apertif of aquarium cleanser. She laughed, and said I should probably stick with my usual dose.
A sign on the store’s door announced that they’ll be keeping shorter hours tomorrow. Under normal circumstances, they’re open 24/7, but I can’t remember the last time I had to make a run at, say, 3 a.m. — probably when the Spawn was little and we needed some over-the-counter remedy or another.
Meanwhile, although some Waffle Houses have shut down, the two here in Mondoville remain open as of this writing. The nearest closed one is about six miles away, in Prosperity. And a number of local eateries remain available for to-go or delivery orders. Me, I had leftover spaghetti tonight, and I likely will for the next couple of nights as well.
The people I see in the stores or on the street seem to be in pretty good humor so far. When I moved here seventeen years ago, I spoke to one of my professors from Ball State. She asked me how the students were, and I told her that it seemed to be a nice place. “Even the dullards,” I said, “are good-natured.”
“That’s good,” she said. “It’s the surly dullards who present problems.” Doubtless there are some surly dullards in the area, but they still aren’t in evidence. The myth of the friendly small town is the stuff of too many country songs, I suppose, but there is some truth to it, at least around here, at least so far.
I hope things are going well where you are as well. If you’re bored, or if you just want to hear my dulcet tones (which have been described as sounding like HAL 9000’s redneck brother), I invite you to check out the latest installment of Frank Zafiro‘s “Wrong Place, Write Crime” podcast, where Frank and I chat about loud, fast music, and the loud, fast fiction that it sometimes inspires. While you’re at it, you might want to check out some of Frank’s own work — he’s a retired cop, and he brings that experience to his work, along with his imagination.
And who knows? You might even want to go ahead and place an advance order for my forthcoming story, “Alt-Ac,” in the new antho from El Bee. There’s some terrific stuff in there — as always, I’m happy to be part of such a talented roster of authors. And in the words of Bartles and Jaymes, thanks for your support.
Whether I’m blogging, fictioneering, or doing academic stuff, I tend to have music going. Usually it’s stuff that I nearly know by heart, reassuring background sounds that please my ears without distracting my conscious mind. Every so often, though, I hear a song that makes me think I need to write a story, or that suggests to me that there is a story to be written. I’ve told the story of Broken Glass Waltzes origin before — driving on a rainy night in Lexington, KY, while listening to The Misfits’ “Die! Die, My Darling.” But a night or two ago, I heard this song — not for the first time, but this time its urgency connected with me in a way I wasn’t expecting. (By the way, the bassist on the track, Chris Carter, now hosts both the “Breakfast with the Beatles” and “British Invasion” shows on Sirius/XM satellite radio.) I’m trying to decide if there’s a story in there for me, but in the meantime, here’s the song.
See you soon!