You know you've really done fuggered up when you start a project and get side-tracked by life's bullshit after a month. Apparently, my job does not understand that I have a life outside of the confines of that terrible factory. I'm not one of those husks of life who are puttering around waiting for retirement so they can finally live their life. Or what's left of it.
I digress. I've already got a blog for complaining, this one's for writing. And write I shall.
I am continuing the stories of Hanchetville. I've got a few in the works, should have at least one done soon. Then again, please don't hold your breath. i don't want any of you to die from suffocation on my account. Aside from that, I am working on my most ambitious undertaking: a novel. Now, I've never attempted something longer than 20-some pages, so this'll be fucking crazy for sure. I've had ideas, but they were far too ambitious for a first undertaking. The idea I have is relatively simple, and rooted in some stuff I have experience with. I don't know what I'm going to do with it, but I'm sure some of it will end up here. Excerpts and the like. However, if I actually get it done, I may try to get this bad boy published. We'll see.
Now, to whet your appetite a bit, here's a sneak peak at a Hanchetville story. It's called "The Road to Damascus" and you may be familiar with the idea already. This is a dialogue that has a prominent position within the story itself, as well as a couple other interconnected stories:
Father Donovan tightened his grip on the wheel, giving a quick jerk of his head towards his passenger: "There's no sense in feeling abandoned. Just because you don't feel God around you doesn't mean He isn't there. You used to attend mass with your mother, didn't you?"
Nora hugged her ragged backpack across her chest, and let out a betraying sigh before she replied, "Yes. When I was a girl. I never got confirmed."
"I remember," the father said, as he reached his sleeve towards the windshield, wiping away the cloud of condensation that had gathered due to the heavy, bated breathing inside the car. He fiddled with the heat, before it picked up and rustled Nora's hair about under her hat. "It's not too late, you know. I do plenty of adult Confirmation classes these days. Errant Catholics seeking to return to the fold. I'm sure you'd know some of them, too. They're a great group of people."
"God and I don't see eye to eye anymore, Father." She shifted in her seat, refastening her seat belt to allow her to recline slightly. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion from her long hike.
"It's because of Matherby, isn't it?" asked the priest, as the name he uttered seemed to drip with venom. He gripped the wheel again as the car glided over a snowdrift that had formed on the road. He grimaced, and twisted his hands across the steering wheel, as if tightening his grip across the neck of some foe.