THE LAST GAME AND NICHES AND CRANNIES

Those are the titles I selected for two novellas I wrote. I started a third and got through four chapters before it expired. I don't even recall its title.

They were never published. Only a few people have copies. I'm sure they feel blessed. They're really not very good. I always thought maybe I could edit and add and fuse the two into one. But those plans died after some initial copy and organizational work.

Both were about neighborhoods, schools, and relationships. About fitting in. Many of the chapters were episodic based loosely on some things I did as a youth, or things I thought about or wished I did.

The point I was trying to make is that somehow we try to carve out our existence that fits us. Sometimes we can't even recognize what fits us. Sometimes it takes others to show us. To pull us up, or to let them pull us down. But somehow, someway we finally take shape. Like a picture when an artist starts out, if he/she doesn't know how it's going to end.

Maybe someday I'll get back to it/them. But writing is really tough and I'm not sure I have much to say. Except a neighbor of mine claps for the cart girl on the golf course to come over to her. She doesn't yell for her: she claps. She pays $10 for 4 Pepsis. She does this once a week. Now, there's a story there somewhere.