I haven’t posted in a week because I’ve been working on my new novel’s first chapter. So if you’ve logged in for a peek
at my life, please be patient for I guarantee you’ll soon be rapt or titillated, at least, by the love story I’m writing. It’s not set in Afghanistan. It’s not about kiting.
This much I can tell you about it so far since it’s just beginning to unfold in my mind. It’s about an ex-stripper named Emelle who is overburdened, overweight, and overly kind. Any more info would just be conjectural. Though it is set in Ptown. And the love is hetero as well as textural.
Right now its title is “Cock and Load,” yet I realize that could lend itself to a lot of Provincetown lore on its own. So before I get too far down the narrative road, I might change it to another title that would fit: “Soul W**re.” Which of the two do you find more resonant? I’m not sure I like what either says or not.
About the love story, I’m trying to write. Emelle heads to Ptown to spread her son’s ashes from their urn and meets Doyle, a housepainter, whose daughter, always ready to fight, has recently been killed in the war in Iraq. Together, they learn how again to walk along a beach as well as the lessons only dead children can teach.
Don’t worry, there is a drag queen or two in the story also. The main one, in fact, is named Nan Tuckit. So rapier wit and raunchy mean-ness abound with words like “s*ck it” and “f*ck it” thrown around with a bit of zest and much, much verve since everyone in Ptown – even middle-aged heteros – is a bit of a perv.
Okay, the novel is now demanding attention, so it’s time to put words in the mouths of Nan and Emelle, and Doyle
and other characters too numerous to mention in a sprightly little poem. I must also be careful. I do not dare spoil
any more of the plot residing in my imagination. Plus, I’ve reached – thank God, huh – my rhymester limitation.