Tuesday Night on the Computer.

Another day of carrying boxes and writing stuff in my head. If I could, I would not leave the room until I got done with the work at hand.

I did my laundry and ate dinner and got to work.

 I submitted my play to The Cincinnati Review, which requested the following:

...Upload one document that includes both a one-page query letter with project description, author bio, and history of the piece submitted (has it been workshopped or produced?), and a sample of the play or screenplay, no more than ten pages.

 This was my query letter and bio:

I have adapted and updated Edgar Allan Poe's Masque of the Red Death for the stage. Following the plot of the short story, I added costumes inspired by Saint Augustine and Poe, and mixed in a bit of Bertolt Brecht. It is political with outlandish costumes. The play has been neither workshopped nor produced.  I am 62 years old, residing in Muncie, Indiana, a former lawyer and now a felon. I wrote the play while in prison.

Too much time was spent proofreading (again, but I tell you this laptop screen lets me see sooo much more than did the phone screen), and a bit more editing, and then excerpting the first 9 pages. Probably not good as a query letter, but I think I hit the high points. 

I was listening to a 1992 Mother's Finest album while doing all this work. I saw them at the Convention Center decades ago (so long ago it was with TJ), and liked them. Not a really modern sound, even for 1992, a very hard rock sound like maybe Humble Pie. I like lyrics, I like the singer, and I grew up with the sound.

Instead of the story I meant to work on tonight, I tried my hand at a little flash fiction, a horror story, which I just sent out to friends and family by email. I think T2 inspired this one. She once condemned us Hasler as people who eat our pets. It has been in my head for several days. Now it is on the computer.

I did get an email from T2. She is alive and awaiting an MRI.

I heard this guy on the Philadelphia radio and I offer it as a pick-me-up:

Just try not to tap your feet. You might even start dancing!

 

Time for bed.

ach