And this years Oscar for Greatest Potential Movie;

I would like to bring to your attention, I have been writing a fictional serial for some wonderful people. Every month I would send in a little story and they would read it, recommend a few edits, and we would work together to make it presentable. It was a lot of fun.

When they agreed to let me write the story they had no idea how hard it is for me to end something. I had no idea. But, I should have. Looking back at all the threads I've started here, only to leave them to die on the vine. It should have been a warning.

The motor for our time machine.

One day, they emailed me and asked how I was going to finish the story. 

Finish, heck, I'm just getting started, I thought. But, after more than a year it was time to bring that particular line of foolishness to a close. 

It almost killed me. I wrestled with the ending for two months. Two months of searching for a way to say goodbye to a world I had brought to life.* Characters, places, situations that only existed in my goofy imagination. 

Then one day, while driving to work, it hit me, kind of. I had the beginning of the end, and most of the end, and most of the end of the end. So I wrote it sent it off, and started casting about for the final piece. 

On the drive home that night it hit me. And I wrote it, edited it the next morning and sent it off. 

Jeff and Mark, from R and D.

So, for all of you people who think "yeah he can get into some pretty deep crap, but he can never find his way out again." Well, that isn't always true, sometimes, with an effort that is almost herculean in its self destructiveness I can.

Plus, it has cemented my desire to finish a novel, good or bad, finished, wrapped up and put behind me. At least until Hollywood comes calling. Man that will be so cool. I hope Hollywood has my phone number.

*Not really, it is where the seeds of my novel sprouted and grew. With new characters, more places, and animated wall paintings that help the protagonist through life (I'm not sure about the wall paintings, I love the idea, am crazy about the idea but am having real trouble with the execution).

Driving Dr. Dawg, Part 1

It was cold and breezy and the rain was inconsistently uncomfortable. It was the new year, and it looked like hell. Everything looked grey, and bleak. The dark was grudgingly giving way to an angry, unfriendly dawn. And dawn was not happy to be there.

Dr. Dawg glared at me from the passenger seat. Blame and distaste described his gaze. It was more than a little uncomfortable. 

"Watch out, that guy is going to cut you off." He snapped from the passenger seat.

"I know what I'm doing." I said.

"Do you have to go so slow? Everybody is passing us." 

"I'm going seven miles an hour over the speed limit."

I think you mean "most of us back successfully."

It's too cold, it's too early, turn up the heat, the diatribe was endless. We had an early morning meeting at the airport with executives from $%&&!@@# (text redacted for national security) and early morning anythings were not good at Life Explained.

Dr. Dawg is never a good passenger, he is disgusted because they won't let him take the drivers test. Just because he's a dog. He calls it "the paranoid restrictions of an inferior race." Maybe, maybe not, but I hate driving him anywhere. He carps endlessly. I should make him take a taxi.

Things you don't plan for on vacation.

While staying in the Black Hills, renting a cabin, and finding your way to a slower, relaxed pace, it is vital to remember that grilling on a gas grill is nothing like using a charcoal grill.  Charcoal is friendly, controllable, warming pile of gray companions, little red smiles blinking through, gently caressing your cheeseburgers with tender warmth, motherly love.

Gas declares war on your dinner.  Lighting with an intimidating  whoosh of vaporized petroleum, it singes meat with deadly efficiency, and terrible purpose.  Whatever you do, don't turn your back on a gas grill, or run inside to grab one more beer.  It is a decision you will regret when you serve your cabin mates little blackened bricks, with a golden coat of perfectly melted cheese.

Saying the whole time, "I just turned my back for a second, and the grill went nuclear. I swear! Would you like some ketchup with your tiny, black rocks?  Boy, that cheese sure makes a nice contrast to the blackened, slightly grey exterior, doesn't it?  Almost too pretty to eat."

But, there was still some food value in the clumps of what was almost ash.  And if people are hungry enough, polite and don't know you very well you can come out with your grilling reputation intact, more or less.

One thing that eases the pain a little is a good breakfast with lots of hot, tasty coffee, bacon, eggs, toast, and real butter. But, don't tell your doctor.

Vacation can be murder to a diet, and an exercise routine. Riding in a car for endless hours, trying to drink water instead of delicious, carbonated soda, and not snack too much. Fast food for lunch, and restaurant, or diner breakfasts add up to a several small losses in the war on aging.  Returning to work, and the gym will be a chore.

But, when the view from your cabin looks like this it is worth it.  The Black Hills are a dark, wonderful, magical place, covered in pine, and ancient spirits. It is a paradise for the sense, the pine,  and the decay, the birds singing in trees that are dancing in a gentle breeze. The sights and smells of heaven.  This is not our first trip, and with any luck it won't be our last.