Nightstand

I told Lori to just write, put down the book, though I know how much they mean to you, hell, you have a blog devoted to such, other worlds with heroines and hero’s and cads and harlots and many assorted’s that build a story, action-like in some cases with cool hats and whips like Indiana, closer to home affectionate things with long lake docks and sitting hand in hand feet in the ripples, even when you shouldn’t, especially when you shouldn’t, even those that end up poorly in a fill in any horror author kind of way, that get to point of awful goodbye, stories that build worlds in your head of romance and action and even that horror and fear.

I told her to put all this behind and just write. Tom and she and I had just had a zoom call after too long a time, though wishing a Mark might have joined us. it’s not really a zoom without Mark, we need him to keep us up on things, the news and the angers but also to just be Mark and his lower lumbar vertebrae college flag football injury that still, to this day brings a smile, not the injury of course, but I told her to just start writing. Tell me, us, of the stories that you remembered so vividly tonight, remind us of you of and of a time that was just magic, or magic enough or maybe not quite magic at all.

Some of your books might have a bit of that magic, might have some moments that you imagine yourself in but none of them are Lori. They might be Chad or Christine in her fines, or Erica who was just playin’ Sid in his lock kneed dumb worship or Jessica who was just a conniving bitch.

But write your own thing. So many stories tonight in our too infrequent zooms of four friends, three on this evening. who learned how to be stupid and not be stupid together and to even grow up … a little at least, still works in progress there after all these years. Your books have nothing on the you, though I guess that’s where books come from, but start Piper.

I am no writer, I don’t have 6 toed cats named after me but I like to recount things in an extra wordly or wordy or Sir Wordalot or whatever exta word kind of way to tell a story or two and keep you going to the next sentence and maybe hold you for some others, at least I hope. .

Maybe that’s how all this starts to end up on someone’s nightstand with a dog and a cat and pillows in a lap and clutches around someone’s telling.

I told her to just write, become your place on a nightstand and let this go full circle. They don’t have any stories any better than yours, real or imagined.

Just change the names for legal purposes and to protect the innocent or even the not so.