News breaking out all over:
Across the street, Merilyn nearly dropped the baby scrabbling in her pockets for her phone. She had to yell to be heard on 911, the baby howling to halt a freight train.
“The fuck you doing, man?” said Angus.
Angus’s heart rate was two-twenty, his irises vanished, skin waxy and bubbling with boils. He hadn’t slept in four days, on the smooth shoulder of a long meth ride ever since Ginger had left with the kids.
Thanks to John Kenyon for taking this piece, and providing some very nice edits.
Me: How has being a father influenced your writing?
Court: As I type this, I figure I’ve got about more 10 minutes to work before my oldest gets up and needs fed and watered. Kids hem you in, no question.
And yet it is wonderful to be interrupted by a slobbering 10-month old.
I’m one of those who willingly retreats for whole days into the sanctuary of your head. My kids won’t allow me to stay there that long, though. I am thankful for it.
Go have a look, please.
Other good news coming shortly.