A Daisy, Kerouac, and Me

Oh, I don’t know what to write. I’ve been working on The Broom Man, but I can’t post it. I read somewhere that if you post excerpts of books you plan to try to have published, it puts the book in jeopardy of not being accepted because…it’s been previously published or at least part of it has been. So….no glimpses of what I’ve been working on for a year now. Yes, it’s taking me a year to write a fictional book loosely based on an intriguing character from my childhood. Mystery surrounded him and assumptions followed him, which when added to my imagination presents a tale of small town life seen through the eyes of someone on the fringe of society.

If anyone knows that what I’ve said is a bunch of pig swill, please let me know. I’d really like to post bits and pieces, get some reactions and who knows, maybe a critique or three.

Since I don’t know what to write today I’ll return to Jack Kerouac:

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”

Excuse me while I sigh….