After a meeting today, I grabbed an early dinner with a friend. In an old box car style diner, this advertisement on the placemats beckoned:

Please note, discounts are available for bearers of the ad.

Welcome the latest addition - a feature borrowed without shame - that improves the browsing experience: a word count meter. Sort of a Gantt chart for open writing projects, the line graph displays real time progress on a given manuscript.

The feature serves two purposes. First, to remind myself that every project has a beginning and end, and that completion is my goal. Second, and far, far more importantly, posting the stat closes off the option of slacking. If anyone notices the meter appears jammed, dips back to the left, or moves to the right in microscopic increments over a period of many days, call me on it via comments or email. That’s correct. Consider the meter an open invitation to nag me.

NOTE: I have an important meeting tomorrow at 12pm. Any spare karma lobbed my way will be appreciated and returned many fold.

Opportunities come in many forms, real, imagined, or unrealized, and their source seems as mysterious the direction they might take one. To some, that viewpoint may appear overly optimistic, but the older I get, the more opportunities I notice. And there are probably tons more beneath the surface that I’m unready to see, awaiting discovery.

Maybe karma drives this train, automagically stopping at the homes of the deserving and the unfortunate. Or maybe fate calls the shots. No idea, really. All I know is that there is seldom a run on opportunity. At least not where I try and shop.

In other news, I was duped by the advertising for the new movie Red Eye. The film is neither a horror flick as the ads implied, nor is it particularly scary, or even a thriller. It’s a movie with some tension and some entertainment value. I’ll review it later this week.

Dear Buddhapuss,

Haven’t seen much of you around lately. I bet you ate too much on vacation and exploded. Your absence proves my theory of Fatus Cattus: all felines expand to test the maximum density their frames can support.

Don’t blow up at the keyboard,
A Learned Reader

Dear Ignorant Squeegie Person,

Love letters that gush with such sentiments make the job of reviewing emails from every Tom, Dick, and Jezebel so meaningful. Really, Squeegie, let’s approach your question in the correct order, from the logical to the scurrilous.

First, the flicker of truth in your question. Yes, you have not seen me around lately; I was on sabbatical. Unlike Michael Moore and Kevin Smith, this big, furry love stud did not follow a calorie restrictive diet in the month of August. Sam can have his Atkins, bring on the sushi pizza. Yes, the intense heat in the later summer months slowed, slowed I said, not eliminated, my output. Regardless of the challenges, I followed my normal schedule. Rise early, meditate, nap, and rise again.

See, I worked the summer, as I work through each day, with concision and purpose. Unlike you Squeegie, who probably stand on a street corner and mess up peoples windshields with a dirty rag and demand two dollars.

Third, If I’m answering this, obviously I have not exploded. Enough said.

As for the most laughable part of your missive, this fractured theory about felines. To begin, the use of absolutes like all, or every, weakens the “tollum”. For a statement phrased like that implies that each cat grows bigger until they reach their maximum size. I state with almost one hundred percent confidence, note the word almost Squeegie, that neither I, nor my apprentice are too large for our frames. Am I big boned? Obviously. What’s a Zen Master going to do when he’s hungry? Closed captioned for Squeegie: he’s going to eat.

Don’t worry Squeegie, ain’t nothing blowing up at this keyboard. Still, I’d cover my mouth while I slept all the same. Because like the great American Don King said, “This is America and accidents happen.”

2005 The Year of the Buddhapuss
Master Buddhapuss

Please check back later Friday. A real update is coming.

Years of training: Twenty.
Nights spent dreaming about turning pro: Half a lifetime.
Delight when eleven-year-old kids wear your jersey to school: Priceless.

Out of nowhere, Buddhapuss Books experienced a nice bump in orders this weekend. Yah! Just finished packing, before a jaunt to the post office.

Work on the book formerly known as Velocity continues in a blind, almost fury like pace. Each day I sit down, write, and rise in the afternoon to find lots of new words on the page.

My output varies daily, and though I remain short of the 2,000 words a day Stephen King espouses, many times I graze the 1,000 a day he suggests for novices. Alas, though, it is not much more than 1,000.

The manuscript is roughly 66,000 words, and there’s lots of story left to tell. Since I’m dead serious about the 100,000 benchmark, I stand at the cusp of the 2/3 of the way there point. Slicing and dicing during the revision process will push the book slightly over or below the target.

I’m curious to see what autumn, and its cooler temperatures, does for my output levels. The last heat blast certainly slackened my pace. I believe surroundings can influence the creative process. For instance, it’s hard to write near a jackhammer grinding asphalt. Conversely, when the weather is comfortable, my synapses fire more effectively and I generally work faster. Or so it seems.