For three days this past fall my dog Tammy and I were trapped in a motel room in the North Carolina mountains. Hurricane Florence was thrashing the slats out of the state even that far inland. It was the two of us and the usual hurricane emergency supplies: cans of deviled ham, some crackers, a few six-packs of Coca-Cola… and not much to do.
So I began writing a short story.
In the past few months has come understanding of why I’ve never been able to crack that block in my mind toward writing narrative fiction. Yes, there have been the scripts for the various films(?) and other projects.
But anything like a smallish piece of prose? The connection couldn’t be made. Not until toward the end of this last summer, and maybe someday I’ll be able to talk about that.
Suffice it to say, so far I’ve written three
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