So it looks like the only thing between me and fame is not being able to upload a file to Blacklist.
It's not the wrestling with the story or making the characters real or thinking too much or falling off a horse or the rain or even the tremendous burn on my leg that I got from pouring hot tea in my lap. And which my computer is sitting on right now.
The problem is the content won't upload.
Imagine Emily Dickinson had this problem.
I have sat at this computer all day refreshing and retrying and wheeling my mom out to get a bath from a new johnny washer because johnny washer was in the hospital last I heard, I wonder if HE is getting washed by a johnny washer now. This temporary johnny washer, brian washer, he had the personality of a you know when a subway car stops and it's just waiting there in the middle of nowhere and nobody's talking but the lights are on and people are just hanging there holding onto poles, people going somewhere not going anywhere now, mute suspended time that isn't efficient at all
that was brian washer
he left with the rain, whisked in and out of my life like bad corn devoured by locusts just out of my vision. I will never see him again.
But back to my story which is if I am never famous, it is because of bad internet. Or programs that promise literary greatness yet won't let you upload anything and there's no one to call with your hand raised tentatively. There's no one.
But it is raining. Mud on top of mud. My mom lives in her own world, her head in a bucket with shiny pictures flashing all around and sometimes she says thank you and reaches for my hand. She did that today. I think motrin helps. And Bess is getting a cold again in SB and all the kids will be home in a few days and then the thanksgiving onslaught after this two weeks of injury and bank fraud hell. It is life suspended. Not even ebay shopping is fun. The only fun thing is giving up.
Listening to the rain.
Wondering if brian washer made it to his car.
Wondering why I am fighting so hard for gay lewis and clark to live in the minds of others not just of me. Are they banging on me to tell their story their fake story, glorified. I already like them. I don't care if anyone else likes them.
But it would be fun to hear people laugh.
That is actually a good reason to keep trying.
