Last night I finished “The Last Word.” Done, done, done. Well, as done as it’s going to get for a while. I’m sending it off, as usual, to Gordon first. It’s a weird ritual. He’ll read it, reject it, and then I’ll send it elsewhere until it’s eventually bought. But he’ll read it quickly, at least. I’ll turn it around to someone else before I leave, and fortunately I know exactly where to send it next.
Now, here’s a little dream story:
There was a man who looked a bit like Ringo Starr who was very happy he’d bought an ancient stone dwelling in the vast, empty field. His friends took picture of it whilst he posed, smiling by the door, just before the wrecking crews tore it all down.
He built a new house in its place, but it was fraught with construction problems. His parents came to live with him to help as the house continued to develop. He thought his bedroom was done. One night, he went in to sleep, but discovered a strange bug by the bed. It looked a little bit like a pink scorpion, although he wasn’t sure it would actually hurt him. He killed it anyway. But then he realized the flesh-colored critters were everywhere, and some had even landed on his leg. He brushed them all off. He went into the room where his parents were sleeping soundly. They were undisturbed by the critters. The rest of the house seemed okay, as well.
He couldn’t sleep. Finally, he found some bug spray and used it on the entire room. The critters seemed to vanish. His sheets were smooth and inviting.
The next day, several of his friends came to visit. No one knew what the little pink critters were, but all of them admired the house he’d built from scratch.
And, as he thought about it, the house looked an awful lot like his parent’s house inside…
