Drear and damp

Gray morning with showers. I suspect that the turnout for the canoe race will be low -- more water in the air than in the stream. Hey, some years we've had snow coming down and water up into the meadows.

Of course, a low turnout improves the safety rating -- the people competing may have the beginnings of a clue on running white water. Bright warm sunny days bring out the six-pack crowd.

Writing is a royal pain

So this chapter is a climax of sorts -- not the final one, by any means -- and it has turned obstinate. I have religion, politics, and The Gunfight at the OK Corral coming together in one slum apartment to further Fat Wizard's plot, and they keep tripping over each other.

And I'm at the stage where I think the entire book is crap. I still haven't sold the last one, what gives me the insane notion anyone will buy _this?_

Maybe he got lost

Once again, Fred has threatened to picket a military funeral but has been logged as a no-show. I'll cut him some slack on this one -- it's a long long way to Tipperary. Or Millinocket and Patten, as the case may be.

"Come to think of it, mistah, you can't get theah from heah."