my unstrung ukulele

Today's earlier post was a distraction. I nearly bombed you all with a hardcore excerpt and pulled it back. It would've rocked a lot more views than haikus and limericks. I'm trying not to feel impatient. I'm sleeping in 2 and 3 hour jags now, hoping a lot of it is the prednisone taper and that once I'm clear of it I'll be able to blissfully conk a lot longer than that.

amwriting is a horrid affliction, a variation of performance art requiring as much stringency as a street performer pretending to be a dead body on a sidewalk for 3 days, dismissing bodily needs and functions in pursuit of proper expression. My brain feels like it's been through a taffy pulling contest, a spun sugar machine, a drunken tilt-a-whirl, and rolled down a hill inside a rogue tire bouncing across the landscape. M.J. Caan wrote Earth's First, also on kindle.

I keep thinking of Mr. Earbrass working on his own final edit. Click this pic, peruse the bidding prices, and appreciate that I actually have a copy of this book.

I don't care that some of you are sick to death of Sherlock fanvids and spoilers and wondering if I've gone off the deep end abandoning all things Spock and Darth. Regular followers will have realized by now that Sherlock has gripped me as my muse and flung me against every wall in my house several times over this month, and the only help for it now is to just keep ripping, reordering, and rewriting until this is sent off and I collapse on the floor upstairs in an unused room, wondering where I am and what day it is.

"You should write a book," they said. For years I've been hearing that exact sentence out of so many mouths. Here, let me just trot down to hell first and pop up with an armload of abandoned bits and pieces to sort through so this will make sense. If you guys knew the real me, you'd wonder how I get anything done with all the limericks hopping around my head like little frogs while I work on being serious. Help me, Sherlock! preface