Author: Writer guy

The Porch

Writer guy

After five years of false starts, promises, two years of expired permits, the landlord began the unthinkable project. Yesterday he and a small construction crew—my first floor neighbor, a carpenter by trade, among them—started ripping down the old and busted porch and replacing rotted out columns with temporary metal strut supports. Long a scourge of the neighborhood, I often cursed this eyesore. It’s been a joke among the long term residents in passing.

When it rained, more often than not, water saturated the wooden planks so completely that walking across the surface felt like forced baby steps across a twenty by forty foot sponge. It has been a home to at least two raccoons, gophers, and the Bumblebores of Doom—bees so large that I offered my wallet up to them, no questions asked. They refused my pleas for mercy.

And ugly, man. Bad aesthetics are one thing, but the crumbling porch gave the entire home—a meticulously maintained older mansion converted into apartments—an urban renewal project gone terribly wrong look. Prospective tenants stood up the landlord at scheduled walk-throughs, without explanation, because they spied the porch from a block out and kept driving once they realized that it was the right address.

The landlord says the new porch will be done by Thanksgiving. Let’s translate that number with a landlord labor output theorem. The formula rests on five years of observing his work habits. Six week estimate x Unknown number of distractions + Cold weather fronts = Multiply original estimate by three and add two weeks.

My birthday is in February. His crew might make that date. Maybe.

5:30 Decision

Writer guy

When the clock hits half-past five, it forces a difficult choice around these parts. If I’m home from work already, there’s enough time–though perhaps a lack of motivation–to write for a few hours. Certainly enough juice is left in me to wade through a scene.

But then, staying in some kind of physical condition is important, too. Not long ago, I was a very large mammal. Periodic and fleeting joint pain remind me that obesity and I did not play well together. So instead of writing right after work, another temptation is to work out for an hour, eat, and shower. Then around nine, sit down, and write for an hour before bed. Those are my intentions. Honestly.

Option Unslug Thyself has a few caveats. Usually after a workout and shower, I feel like reading and sipping water. And maybe passing out to some music. So nine comes and goes, and more often than not, the only thing hitting the keyboard is a cat.

And that is the long road to finish a novel.

Tonight I pick writing.

Lessons

Writer guy

Lessons learned this week. First, I enjoy a good crisis as much as any tech, though I prefer those punctuated by brief moments of calmness. Solving a nasty four month old problem merits a wee break. At least to me, I think it does. Like just enough time for a bathroom round trip before the utility company snuffs the power to campus.

By the end of the day I laughed. I must confess I did not in the moment.

Better still, I learned that a coworkers best friend is an editor at Harcourt.

The people you meet when you wander the halls.