What's in the pot

Bunch a drafts, process post

By pot, I mean, of course, my outdated (works just fine) Microsoft Word for Mac. I’m in one of those writerly places where a whole bunch of work is started, but who’s gonna put the fancy salt on it? Drain it? Let it ferment in a dark corner until it starts to bubble and transform? Throw it out? Who’s gonna run from it when it begins to move like gray slime across the counter à la Better Off Dead? Send it to an editor? "Move” it “to” “the trash” by “mouse”? Feed it to the chickens? (They are real, these chickens, and named Bobbie, Owl, Sapa Inca, and Nefertiti. If I melted cheese on a draft, they would eat it).

What’s cooking (good morning, cliché), in no particular order:

1.) A short story, called “Salt Caves.” I had so much fun writing this. Here is the first paragraph:

Me and Dot had put together an LLC making Himalayan salt caves and we’d cornered the market in Nebraska. First one we planted was in North Platte, nearest sizeable town to my hometown, London, so small, so methed out, you’d miss it save for a few sadsacks who’d wander all the way loose to I-80, including my pop, that’s where I last saw him, at a Kum & Go, hanging suspect-style under the skimpy eaves. Arrivederci to that asshole.