One week and counting

Setting June 1st as an arbitrary deadline for The Cricket seems to be effective.  It has shaken many decent thoughts free from my brain, and working them out has been more productive than rewriting sentences.  A deadline has also made rewriting sentences more urgent -- and many sentences have been changed around.  Finally, it gives me a point to set aside my keyboard, which will be a great relief.  At some point one has to accept that a book can only be improved marginally, and that it would be better to let the imperfect thing slip from one's hands and begin working on the unwritten next . . .  for this one is mostly unformed, and any writing at all will be a major improvement.

That said, revising a book is a nightmare when combined with a job and a toddler.  My last week is going to be four more nights of late revising, followed by two full days of reading the entire project on the Kindle Previewer -- and then, the upload . . .

Instead of . . .

Instead of cleaning the house I will set it on fire.

Instead of revising The Cricket I will delete it and never think about it again.

Instead of filing my taxes I will ignore them and live the rest of my life in contemptible fear.

Things happening elsewhere

Somewhere out there in Canada an election is breaking -- but it doesn't seem to have the hysteria, news saturation, or unpleasantness of America -- and so I feel a little bit deprived of stimulation, despite the remarkable surge of the NDP.  Canadian elections seem to consist of little more than politicians debating their policy proposals, following by people voting, a process that the government facilitates rather than hinders.


Off in Thailand my Rangpur orange tree and soursops are growing well, and the coffee shrub is covered with fruit . . .  but I am not there to see these things . . .

Here I have nothing but an ending that needs revision, something too grim to contemplate.