Sport fishing is neither

Sometimes you move and move again and take a week off to visit family and your editor sends you an email saying okay but three weeks, seriously. Can you finish it in three weeks. And yeah, sure. you can. You probably always could. But you didn’t. So here we are.

The book is still too long and you’ve gotta add more words. And there’s this thing you wrote in the beginning, back when you didn’t think you had enough material, long before you realized you had way too much goddamn material. And she’s gone through and cut the thing you said about Morgan Wallen because now she’s thinking, okay this is really too long. But the Morgan Wallen thing is only 300 words. And it’s funny, goddamnit. So you put that back and cut the thing you’ve been meaning to cut. And cut some more. Then you wonder why you’re speaking in the third person. But you remember you’ve might’ve found an old bottle of adderall.

The point is, I had to cut this bit, and we’re cutting a lot more. And I don’t have much time left here to be doing much of anything else. I have a table and a chair or two, a bedroom and a room full of boxes I’ll deal with later, and a pile of boxes by the door. Woody’s got rugs and his beds but he prefers the hardwood mostly. I’ve gotta get to typing. But here, after the break, is a little thing about sport fishing that doesn’t belong in the book, but I like it.