Saturday Bonus (or: Early Weekend Writing Report #5)

I’ve been sick the past couple of days — nothing more dire than a cold, but still enough to ruin my evenings — which is why Thursday’s post never did manage to make an appearance. I fell asleep in the loftice around 7 p.m. and then had weird dreams until 9 o’clock, when I finally got up from the floor, dislodging my cat. I was only up for an hour, which was just enough time to write a couple of sentences for Pine&Meyer and get ready for bed. Truly an evening for the ages.

Friday was similarly unproductive. Still, even picking away at it, I’m 1,151 words into chapter 6, which means I should be done with “On the Corner of Pine & Meyer” within the next quarter century. Have I mentioned that I’m never going to post an unfinished work again? Because I’m never going to post an unfinished work again.

Speaking of, I took a break today to write happy-toned-to-hide-the-seething-frustration poetry. There is nothing like 24/7 political commentary to really make you feel impotent, and with the news coming out of New York and Virginia this past week regarding the legalization (or attempted legalization) of infanticide, there’s nothing I can do about it but scream into my own echo chamber. In fact, I don’t ever intend for this blog to become political (I write to entertain, and, as Michael Jordan so brilliantly and succinctly put it regarding his refusal to mix business and politics: “Even Republicans buy shoes”), but there are some things so beyond the pale evil that I don’t think they even count as politics anymore. That, and there are advantages in writing a blog that is currently read by approximately two people, both of whom are related to me. Even then I want to be judicious, which is why whenever I talk about abortion, I always do it in bouncy rhyme:

Location, Location, Location

“Location!” cried the realtor, “Location, yes, location!
“Value isn’t in the house, its worth is in relation
“To waterfront, the park next door, the school district too,
“Your neighbors’ class, if shopping’s close, by scenic mountain view.
“Beware train tracks (you’ll hate the noise), or industry (that stink),
“Instead remodel, alter walls, or move the kitchen sink.
“The only thing you cannot change—that’s stuck for the duration—
“Is that adage oft retold: location, location, location!”

“Location!” chimed the doctor, pleased, “Location, yes, location!
“Value isn’t in the facts, your worth is in relation
“To if you’re in a woman’s womb or on the birthing table,
“Your mom and I’ll discuss it then—more so if you’re disabled—
“And if her mental health’s at risk, if wealth or class is low,
“Your noise and stink’s too much for her; I’m afraid you’ll have to go.
“But do not claim infanticide (what’s with this crass fixation?),
“Legally the defense rests thus: location, location, location!”

It’s not going in my poetry tab yet because there’s still something off. Some of that’s the off-syllable count in a couple of the lines, but there’s still something more vague at work: either some part of the message or some part of the feel of the whole flow that isn’t sitting like I want it to yet. Translation: it’s going to sit in my Poetry/Works_in_Progress folder for a couple of weeks (or even months) before I even look at it again. I’ll have a better idea of what it’s missing then. In the meantime, you get the unfinished product because it’s been awhile since I’ve produced anything that is–at least on the surface–completed.

[Third alternate title to today’s post: Andrea Breaks the Same Promise for the Fourth Time; Enjoy This Unfinished Work]

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