“Frank” is short and sad and sweet. It may be a little too Dollhouse in the ending, though. I might have to rework that some. We never do end up meeting the Doc, except once in a dream. But a draft is done.
I don’t know what I’ll do with it. Nothing until I do something about the man with a heart in a box.
I had considered maybe polishing “Frank” up and selling him on Kindle for 99 cents, but people have their whole novels up there for 99 cents. Can you really ask someone to buy a 4,300 word short story about a zombie for the same price as a whole book?
God damn it. Publishing these days is fucked up.
I’m just going to sit here floundering around in obscurity. If you need me, I’ll be growing old over by the desserts.
I’ve been cheering on Don all week, just because we here in the South, even up in Tennessee, depend a lot on tropical storms and hurricanes to keep us from despair in late summer. This, too, probably does something to develop the peculiar regional character–you realize you’re hoping for the kind of storm that kills people so that you can have a break from the heat.
Anyway, we have rain today. It’s not from Don, since Don turned out to be kind of a bust. But still, rain. I could have slept all morning, if not for the number of animals who wanted to let me know they were alarmed by the thunder and the lack of food in their bowls. Of course, when I got out into the kitchen, the cats HAD food in their bowl. Just not the right kind.
The morning storms seem just about done, which is too bad. We could use some more water. But maybe the afternoon showers will be good.