Now that I've gotten over my disappointment at my novel rejection, I'm actually feeling glad it didn't sell. I was hating the opening paragraphs of that book -- well, maybe not hating, but not real crazy about 'em. So I've been piddling with it off and on the past few days, and I think I've almost got it.

The sound of a baseball striking a human skull is not unlike the sound of a book slamming shut. Not a big book like a leatherbound bible, mind you, but more like a small prayer book, snapped shut right under your nose.

That sharp, popping sound heralded the beginning of the end of the All Nations team. The first nail in the coffin.

I can still hear that sound now, even after three years and thousands of miles since that game in Kansas City. I hear it every day, at various inopportune times, like an unreliable clock tower tolling the hour at random. My mind won't let it fade from my memory. In fact, I remember every detail from that day, no doubt due to all I've written down in this book of mine.

So I may as well start there and tell this story properly.

Of course this means that I want to revise and tweak the REST of the book, now that I have the opening and the rest of chapter 1 looking good. Only 366 pages to go!

Looks like the new novel is gonna have to sit on the back burner once again.

In other news, it feels like I'm falling behind, trying to keep up with the latest and greatest. Drew just turned 11 months yesterday (and I didn't do a journal entry -- bad Dad! Bad Dad!). So I took lots of photos and they're up over in the PhotoBlog, with more over in the Kodak Gallery. I tell, that kid just gets cuter and smarter by the day. Now if I could just get him to stop squinting in anticipation of the flash...

Another interesting venture going on right now is the "ED SF Project," which is a listing of all the stories the soon-to-be-discontinued Sci Fiction site has published, with various folks signing up to share their thoughts about a particular story -- a fine idea! I signed up to talk about "His Own Back Yard" by James Blaylock, a time-travel tale that should've set off all my sentimental red flags, but it was about a guy and his dad, and the damn story made me cry, thinking about Drew.

And finally, just started Jeffrey Ford's The Portrait of Mrs. Charbuque, and while I'm not very far into it, I'm quite liking it, and I think reading it helped me figure out a way back into my baseball novel opening, which is priceless.

That's the secret to good writing -- when I read it, I want to write something just as good, and strive to write even better, if possible. Later!