Oh, Lord, Chapter Five

So, the book opens with Hannah going out to Dickson to purchase some art painted by Kevin, the wrestler, who then becomes a procurer of interesting people and moonshine for her. So, I thought it would be nice, in the last chapter, if we could go back to Kevin’s art. Perhaps he could paint a lovely portrait of the Devil.

But apparently, before we get to that, which was supposed to be the opening scene, my main character is spending sometime fucking the Devil.

Yes, I am mortified.

My parents may never read this book.

Hell, you may never read it.

I may have to take it out before I even get to the second draft. Ha, I don’t know. I blame Squirrel Queen. She was the one who reminded me of the importance of just getting whatever comes into your head down on paper so that you can revise it later. Well, and the Devil, who, of course, would have to throw a wrench into things.

Oh lord.

This novel-writing thing… I just don’t know.


We had a crow high in the tall oak way in the back of the yard this morning. It was the first one I’ve seen in the yard. A bunch live along Lloyd and holler between the two pastures, but this was the first one I’d seen in the yard. It hollered when we walked out of the garage and then went quiet. I was wearing my bright yellow jacket, so I wondered if he wasn’t all “Hey, I know you from the road.” I don’t know if crows can see color, but the call did seem to be one of surprise.

And then he just sat there and the dog peed and I went to work.

There are a hundred crows, at least, who flock out front of the library in the big tree and ever evening, at dusk, they take to the sky above midtown. They have, occasionally, fired cannons to scare off the starlings and I dread the day when they decide they have to chase off the crows.

On Sunday, we saw turkey vultures in the ditch, looking like bitter monks, and turkeys, wild turkeys, in with the horses at the sharp turn on Brick Church Pike.

Big birds are weird. Smaller birds you can kind of pretend are like bugs or mice or something, like you don’t concern yourself with the philosophy of the cardinal, no matter how beautiful.

But when a crow seems to recognize you?

That’s disconcerting.