Fireland

By the time I finish shaving and getting in the harness and queuing up Toy Story I’m not even in the mood anymore.

» final draft

Another NaNoWriMo has come and gone. ‘Round midnight last night I wrote the closing words of my novel, set down my pen, and enjoyed a celebratory flute of champagne on my balcony, the city lights sparkling like magical golden jewels or amulets.

I am very pleased to share my latest work, entitled Sweet Tumescence, with you, my friends.

Chapter 1
Savannah True was the best locksmith in town. This one time she managed to get the Mayor’s secret closet open after he flushed the key down the toilet because he thought the FBI was at the door when actually it was just Fat Frankie doing one of his classic pranks lol. Yes, Savannah True could unlock anything … except her heart.

Chapter 2
Someone murdered Savannah True. No one knew who did it or how or what kind of weapon they used. The cops were stumped.

Chapter 3
A writer lived in this town. He had always loved Savannah True’s smile and laugh and mouth, and the way her succulent breasts looked like quivering balloons of gentle flesh. He wrote a poem about her that was very powerful.

Chapter 4
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.

Chapter 5
FUCK THIS AND FUCK YOU DHFJKGHJKFNG

Epilogue
mention something about savannah true having a jealous boyfriend who killed her with something

I’m fishing with my uncle. We don’t even have poles or a boat or anything, just a 30-pack of Tecate and a pond that looks like it’s time to call the plumber. We’re throwing Pringles in there but they’re not biting.

I ask him why he never had any kids, like kids of his own that would maybe like to go fishing with him, like a real father-son bonding thing? Like instead of making me go?

And he says he got a Texan vasectomy. And I ask him what that is and he says: Marrying an ugly woman.

I drink my seventh beer and suddenly stop caring about whatever this fucking guy is talking about. High school starts in three weeks and that’s when the good life will begin for the kid here.