I'm fine, thanks

Alright everyone, pay attention 'cause I'm not interested in repeating myself ad naseum or in going to jail.

"The Wronger" is a work of fiction. Obviously not entirely. I've borrowed heavily from my life because that's what I knew this afternoon, and I try to write what I know.

I'm pretty sure people are going to have some really bad days in this story. I'm pretty sure there will be mutilations and gore galore. At least, that's what the trolls tell me (See semi-explatanory note below). The person telling the story is not a nice person. But let me make this perfectly and painfully clear: I am not the narrator. I have not done, nor will I do, any of the things that will most likely happen in this story.

With that out of the way, let me talk a little about how this story is coming to life for me. I was working on "Tom Bolo" this morning and having a real struggle with it. Having to fight and claw for every miserable, stinking word. And that sucks because while there are a couple nuggets of ore there, most of it so far is just garbage rock that I've spent a lot of effort getting to the surface of my mental mine.

So I took a break and played some "Jedi Academy," but I could see my breath, so I went to build a fire. While I was making kindling, I started thinking, yet again, about all the silly, sometimes downright stupid, games I play with myself to avoid writing. I'll wash dishes. I'll take pictures. I clean shit out of the dogs' room. I'll do almost anything to not have to write.

That got me started thinking about a story about all the things I've done and could do to avoid writing. Which got me thinking of a story of a writer who's in the same boat, but gets off on hurting other people, and uses that as his main mode of procrastination. I think "The Wronger" is starting to go in a slightly different direction, but I'm not sure. It's still way too early to tell.

The other huge thing about "The Wronger" is that working on it feels completely different from working on "Tom Bolo." Where the later is a fight for each word, the former feels like a complete gem sitting there, fully formed, but which I can't see. The trolls (Yeah, I know. talk to my Mom. She's the one who introduced me to them, for better or worse. Just an additional side note: I think her trolls are way more well-adjusted to polite society than mine. Hers may or may not use silverware, but mine don't even bother with their fingers; they're quite the brutish lot.) give me descriptions of little bits of it at a time, and it's my job to be a secretary and transcribe what they have to say. Sometimes with "The Wronger," I feel like I can't type fast enough to get it all down. And if I could type faster, the story would probably come faster.

Where does all this leave us; you the intrepid yet gentle reader, and I, the fairly well-groomed spinner of dark, uncouth and impolite stories? Here's where: I can control Tom Bolo (so far) and as such, I pay the price by having a story that in places is dull and well-mannered and which often may tell polite lies. I am definitely *not* driving the bus with "The Wronger" which will be long and brutish, much like our current occupation of the Middle East, but also completly honest, unlike the afore-mentioned occupation.

If you're worried about the blood staining your shirt and your mind, stay away from "The Wronger." I can't tell you this any more plainly. Proceed at your own risk. If you're worried about accurate physical representaion of universal phenomena (ie. "physics"), stay away from "Tom Bolo," or at least keep your trap shut. It's a space opera, for god's sake.

I'm sure readers of "The Wronger" may correctly assume that I'm still some pissed off at Northland. But you know what? I'm going through the grieving process after losing my job there. I'd be in "anger" at the moment. But after a short conversation with the Wife who, as always, has her feet better rooted in the soil of a reasonable reality than do I, I'm going to do what I can to not kill off any fictional representation of any person employed by Northland. She thinks, and I agree, that'd be pushing it too far. So some poor random sap is going to have to take a fire axe to the throat for them. Typical.

If any of you feel I've crossed some sort of moral or ethical line with "The Wronger," please let me know ASAP. I'd rather you e-mail or call me, or tap me gently yet insistently on the shoulder, than find a Sheriff's deputy at my door with a warrant for me because of a story. If that came to be, I'd be rather put out, I'm sure.