Sunday Morning Coming Down

[Ed. note: If DP reads this title, the game is up. Indy once insulted him very early in their relationship by insinuating that she did not like this song. She thought it was country music cliche. She has since relaxed her view on it a little.]

I finished the first large organizational pass of The Fucker. Now I’m trying to stay at the table long enough to incorporate all the changes scrawled on my manuscript pages. I tried not to look at the little stuff, but instead thought about order and framing.

I have no business being online at all, but there are a few plum darlings I have killed, and I would like to mourn their passing.

I wanted to learn how to tell the weather from rendered bear fat in a jar.

And, speaking of cold-blooded murder, I completely stole that idea from DP. So I probably had to cut it.

My sister gave her a stuffed dog, which I thought was terribly infantilizing. And yet, she kept the dog with her. She did not hug it, but it was often on her lap or on the side of her bed.

The strength of this is in the idea rather than the writing. I put that one in just for Cougar.

My mother was a revenant.

I think that might be a sci fi reference, and may not mean anything outside of the genre.

What darlings have you killed?

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4 responses to “Sunday Morning Coming Down

  1. I killed a sentence in the middle of the handwritten chapter I was typing up, just because I couldn’t figure out what on earth it said.

    I suspect it was a sentence of sheer, scintillating beauty of the type I shall never write again.

  2. Thanks Indy for putting that in for me (why?). But, i got all excited when you talked abour Revenants. It’s the name of one of Professeur Cougar and my favourite TV shows. French. You should watch it. Is Mom a revenant? She been visiting you? Tell her I’d like to see her too… Please?

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