Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Bandage Came Off
I am making an effort to get this set of letters out in the order in which they were mailed. Until two years ago 2007 had been the most documented time in my life because of the need to correspond with who I thought was a friend.
I have to admit these letters are painful for me to read now, but I have to read them. It feels to me as if I’m cutting open an infected wound to let the sickness run. The stench of it makes me turn my head, but I feel better once the deed is done.
26th July, 2007
Dear (Soldier on deployment in Iraq),
Well, the bandage came off and the wound has sealed itself. Like I said I’m ugly, but that’s nothing new. Still can’t go to the gym for fear of opening the wound again, but at least it stopped oozing. It’s really very funny to think that the feeling of your own blood running over your skin is less bothersome then the clear ooze to come after, but that’s the truth. I never was in much pain and that might have something to do with my feelings.
On the subject of feelings, there have been many a thing over the past year that you have done to piss me off this business with the e-mail I had honestly thought had become a private joke. Needless to say I have forgiven you for everything even those few events that still sting. I can tell you that they are not your fault and that you simply can’t understand me on those subjects. I would ask you to remember that your father made promises that he did not keep, but in the end you were little worse off then you started. On the other hand, my father lied and stole then made it clear that he felt neither to be a crime.
In other news work is still the same, and I’m loving almost every minute. Not having to deal with those ass monkeys is a blessing words will never describe. I feel confident that the chief activity of my working hours will remain reading, and now no one has the power to say anything to me about this activity. After the incident I took two six day weeks, and they all shook in their boots I find that a six day week puts me at a take home of around eight hundred and fifty dollars and that’s enough for me. Granted my tuition this semester came to eighteen hundred dollars and if I want to do any summer course work I’ll be making payments that big about three times a year, but in life we must sacrifice.
The only real problem I’m having is the dirt that gets on my hands getting on my books. This is mostly just annoying, and I probably should pay it no attention. I’ll have gloves for the school year. Keeping my nose stuck in a book keeps me out of trouble, and you know how I get into trouble.
On trouble, I’m having it with my writing. Can’t get the ball rolling with “A Mind Bending” at all. I got this far buy writing the events I knew I wanted to happen but connecting them is going to be a bitch. If good story writing was easy no one would pay you for your work.
I also picked up a book for the second time on writing for children and found the answer to my questions on the subject. Picture books or books for very young children are generally twenty-four or thirty-two pages in length. Four pages are used for stuff other then story ending the author with twenty to twenty-eight pages of written text. In other word, I almost have a completed children’s book. I will now look up and order every children’s book on the subject of homonyms and end the book with a definition of the word homonym. I’ve written exactly the book I would have wanted as a child and hence exactly the book I would buy for children.
The end result should be no less than three books “Homonyms for Her and Him,” “A Hand Full of Homonyms,” and “To, Too, and Two, for My Grandson Andrew.” I intend to hammer on these works until the books I order get in, and I will order them on Saturday. If I encounter no problems I should be sending my books for publication out before the school year begins. I should then be turned down before its end. Pessimism is not the enemy of works but only the firm promise that no matter what the outcome with the new day comes new effort.
I finally got a hold of (our mutual friend), but I still haven’t talked to him. He will be able to help me take my car into the mechanic on the first or there about. The thirty first is his last day of summer classes or something like that, it’s hard to tell with (our mutual friend), but none the less the issue will be resolves soon.
Life is shit, burn the methane,
Richard Leland Neal