Spark

I think my muse just kicked me in the ass. Gotta write this down before I forget -- OK, I may think it's crap later but you have to write every friggin' day:

I hate tradition.

It's because of tradition that, at this thirtieth Thanksgiving dinner halfway through the thirty-third year of my life, I was sitting at a rickety card table covered by Sesame Street paper napkins, plastic plates of half-eaten dim sum and turkey, paper cups with orange High-C and RC Cola and a lone Tsingtao beer. My two-year-old nephew, sitting next to yours truly, had spit up on my khakis while a six-year-old technically a cousin (Kevin Bacon and I have less degrees of separation than the wisenheimer punching my arm) was shouting "Uncle Josh is a drunk! Uncle Josh is red!" over and over again.


Hmmm, I think I have a rough draft for the beginning of the second novel.