Lee asked recently what I plan to do next. The work on Except for His Wings is moving along at a nice clip -- although I did not get as much done today as I had hoped, due to cat-related issues -- and I guess after that is available in print and digital form, I will take a breather and then pick up Wacky in WhoVille. I opened the file on that this evening just to refresh my memory. Here is the opening bit, as it now stands:
“It wasn’t really Bobby Dunn’s fault,” I told Daniel. “He seems to have been born that way.”
Daniel looked over his glasses at me.
“You know, amoral. Not immoral, just without an ingrained moral compass. Like when he rented the Kappa Dabba Du fraternity house to that company that made porno flicks. He really did think it was just a quick way to make some money to replace what the frats had lost on their GrinchFest Burrito Bash.”
Daniel returned his attention to his laptop.
“As I recall, they lost that money because they flew a mariachi band up from Guadalajara for the party.”
I nodded vigorously.
“Exactly. The boy is not bad, he's just …” I fumbled for a word.
“Brainless?” suggested my husband.
“Lacking in foresight,” I said firmly. “Now you or I or just about anyone else, for example, would have foreseen the likelihood that it might not be wise to plaster flyers all over Barona advertising yourself as the Grass King and telling people to page you at a certain number day or night. Of course, Bobby and the Kappas thought they would make quite a bit of money mowing lawns around town, but the local constabulary was not sure what services they were offering.”
“No, the worst part was that the flyer had a photo of shirtless frat boys flexing their arms over their slogan: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, We’ll take care of all your needs!’ I am sure Chief Doyle had fun trying to explain what that was not about to the Barona vice squad.”
“I wish I could say that I'm sure none of the Kappas was aware of possible misunderstandings on that score.”
“Score was exactly what the people who kept paging them were trying to do … not score a frat boy but a bit of weed.”
“I know, I know. Trust me, I spent much of my morning trying to convince President Samiam that the boys were not running a drug ring out of the Kappa Dabba Du house.”
Daniel pushed his laptop away and turned to me.
“Why, Damien, why? Why were you dragged into this? Or do I not want to know? Didn’t you promise me before I went to England that nothing was going to happen and that you would be Kappa-free by the time I returned to our happy hovel?”
Hmmm. As I glance back at what I have said so far, I realize that I seem to have fallen into the Bertie Wooster-esque trap of beginning at the wrong place and confusing the potential reader. Let me backtrack, start at the beginning, as someone wisely suggested, go until I come to the end and then stop.
If I can.
If I can.