Just getting back to the grind here after some distractions to do with The Music Half, which means I had gigs during most of the weekends that I'd otherwise be working on the book. I did get some positive reactions from a friend of mine to The Petrified Christ, and then I would later find out that she may have some bookstore connections (and if you do, too, let's start a phenomenon). Then while getting to some key plot points as I trudge towards the end of Darker Prometheus, I noticed that there are interactions that I didn't account for in previous chapters, good stuff, the result of some significant slicing and dicing. It's okay. "My old man is a television repairman, he's got this ultimate set of tools. I can fix it."
Taking a break from writing on this Mardi Gras to watch a little New Orleans royalty.
Always so mysterious to me, even as an adult. The vast, polished white floor and dim lighting, images that were burned into my mind as a child while watching it on late-night PBS on Mardi Gras eve with my parents. This is what the rest of the country needs to see when we boast proudly about our special Tuesdays once a year.
Had a blast last night with the Not Real Radio gang, and thanks to everyone who tuned in. If you missed it, click here to be launched right into it. I can't say how much their support of me as a writer means to me.
Tomorrow is Mardi Gras here in New Orleans, but for me it will be a day of immersion into my fictional world.
Much more fun.
A rainy Sunday in New Orleans during this the final weekend before Mardi Gras. Had a bit of a late start this weekend as a result, having spent most of the day yesterday up on blocks due to a bit too much reveling on Friday night. But today more work has been completed on III and tonight I'll be a guest alongside my buddy Scotty Elstrott on the Not Real Radio podcast. Click on over at 8PM CST to hear what's happening in pop culture, local entertainment and news from five people who will be avoiding the rest of Mardi Gras at all costs.
My previous post was a work of fiction, meant to mirror where I am in the final edit of Darker Prometheus and possibly stir up interest by burring the line between fact and fiction. But unfortunately, art doesn't always need help down here in New Orleans when it comes to imitating life. Literally hours after my post, there was a real shooting on Bourbon Street around 3AM that killed one (who apparently was someone close to a friend of mine) and left two injured.
My thoughts go out to the victims and their families.
NOPD reports confirm that shots have been fired from inside of Samson's Live Music club located at 433 Bourbon Street. There is no further information at this time, but TedTorres.com will check in with regular updates as they develop. Tune into WWL-TV for their live, continuous coverage of "Crisis in the Quarter."
Last night I had a cocktail or two or three, and it was one of those sensory experiences that catapulted me back in time, right back to the very beginning of my work on the Trilogy. And by this, I mean the Special Collector's Editions, the ones that were being given new life just as I felt I was being reborn. The first sip last night took me directly to the kitchen table at Kim's house, obsessing about how easy and great and satisfying this work was going to be, even splintering off to write a short story or two, we're talking full-on writer mode here.
And there were guns, plenty of guns. I'd buy a replica air gun (BB and pellet) practically every week off the Internet and become excited immediately, my take on compulsive, online shopping. I'd discovered small cigars, and a flirtatious rekindling of my relationship with alcohol, and the best was that divine mixture of Absolute Vodka and Minute Maid Grape Cranberry
Now it's past noon on this Saturday, and I'm starting up again. I'm drinking more Red Bull and feeling more determined than ever. I can't think of two better drinks than my vodka and my taurine, and perhaps one day I'll mix the Absolute with the Red Bull and write a full set of encyclopedias.
That's right, know when to stop. Don't be like Ted. He's been on a steady drip of taurine since about 8AM. But what Ted remembered eventually is that the level of intensity he needs to get through these last, action-packet chapters comes only in short supply. It's maddening to Ted. It's enough to get Ted speaking of himself in the third person.
Begin first person: It's been a good weekend for Book III. Lots done. Finding a new momentum, or it found me, like a hook being reeled-in by a fisherman named The End.
A mild weekend here in New Orleans that will have devoted to it many cans of energy drink and a determination to bring this tale to a close. There is panic currently at the nightclub, at Samson's Live Music, and everyone is looking for answers. It's the momentum that I need to match, this need to understand why those questions need to be answered and answered now. They need to be answered by this weekend, and then the rest will just flow from that. Less cryptically speaking, I've reached the revelatory section of Book III on this overcast Saturday, and with a head full of taurine and nicotine, I plan to let my characters all know where they stand before it all explodes and everyone starts running towards the ending, which by the way, happens somewhere in St. Bernard Parish.
What the fuck is Ted talking about?
It looks like we're here, at that moment when the ending begins. And it starts with an observation, a shifting of energy that prompts the question: "Did you hear that?"
Can't think of a better way to come around the straightaway. It's been a grueling but rewarding road, and this third book, Book III, will bring with its completion a sense of satisfaction that I can feel twinges of already. The Trilogy will exist, will be out there to grow with the rest of the universe, and with this end will come the beginning of the next phase of my work. I'm certain I'll revisit the material, or at least build on it to create titles with subtitles that say: "A Blanket Story," and I look forward to that absolute new page turned.
Next up will either be that new Blanket Story or a completely different novel altogether, one that's already near completion and has in fact occupied me during a good portion of my end in Alabama and my new beginning in New Orleans. What can I say, this is only the beginning. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. --from "Closing Time" by Semisonic (1998).