The Butcher took the dog to the park this morning and came home regaling me about how Sonnyboy peed on his only dog friend, who I guess needs a nickname. Apparently this is a change from the usual when the dog-friend will be trying to pee and, because he’s taller than Sonnyboy, Sonnyboy will scootch in under him, and get peed on in order to pee over where the dog-friend has peed.
I don’t know. It cracks me up, anyway.
I really tried to get into The Luminaries. It’s exquisitely written. It won the Man Booker Prize. Everyone is raving about it. I gave it an hour and I gave up. But let me say, if this is your thing, it’s going to be really your thing. Someone’s going to open it up and, from the first page, be like “Oh, holy shit! This is extraordinary!” but I, from the first page, was like “Why is this taking so long?”
So, instead, I finished the clean-up on Ben & Sue and sent it off to a writer who asked to see it. I read through my encyclopedia entries one more time and sent them off to the mayor’s office. And I sent two short stories off into the world to see if someone might want to publish them. And I caught up on old gossip and hung out with the dog.
Except for needing to get to the metro archives about these Nashville slaves to see if there’s enough information to write anything more than “And there they were.” I believe I have done all I can on everything in my life and all those balls are now in other people’s courts.