My Ticket to Fame & Fortune

fuzzilla made a sage observation on that last entry: God, this would all make for such a fascinating novel... the theme of alternative relationship models and what are the traditions when it gets disrupted by something as huge as a death is a killer theme for a novel.

I thought: She's right.

Very, very commercial. I can see the film adaptation now.

And I wouldn't even have to write very much. It would mostly be editing existing TMI diary entries & generating some connective tissue to string them all together into a narratively cohesive whole.

I figure I could knock the thing off in eight weeks.

Of course, I'd have to shave 20 years off the real-life protagonists: People will read about alternative romantics in their late 30s/early 40s, but no one wants to read about women in their 50s, 60s, or 70s.

There would only be one chapter I'd have to write—and that would be the very last chapter where Flavia, Daria, and... let's call her Grazia, the Patrizia interject...go off on some kind of mad road trip together, sprinkling Brian's ashes one handful at a time at various wacky roadside attractions.

The style would be easy, peasy, cash (as in "short for casual.") Middle-aged Dolly Alderton, in other words.

(I am a Dolly Alderton fan. There are times when she can be remarkably profound.)

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With that in mind, I whipped off 1,500 words last night.

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In other news, it's back to All Remuneration, All of the Time. (Except when I am exercising & working on the New Writing Project, which will obviously be my ticket to Fame & Fortune, right? 😀)

And it is supposed to rain all day, and the sky is grey, so naturally I am in a melancholy mood.

Icky announced he is materializing today—one day earlier than his usual schedule.

I see from my constant monitoring of craigslist postings both in the Hudson Valley and in Ithaca that Icky is trying to rent out the college-bound Spawn's room. Naturally, he did not bother to inform me of this. Altogether now: What a DICK.

In the posting header, he described the room as a "studio apartment." Which did make me laugh.

And he is charging a significantly higher rent for it than he is charging me.

I can't imagine there are hordes of people wanting to move to fuckin' Wallkill, but what do I know?

Oh! And the posting talked about chickens. And fresh eggs!

Poor Black Chicken! Having to lay for three!

If someone else moves in, I will install a lock on the Patrizia-torium.

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No word from the T-burg Co-op KidZ, which I am interpreting to mean the answer is, "No."

I am imagining their off-the-record conferences: But she's so old! What if she strokes out on the couch???

Oh, well. "No" doesn't kill you, & you still gotta try.

I dislike being here, but I really have to be selective about where I jump next. I jumped without doing thorough due diligence last time, & that's why I ended up here.