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It’s been kind of hard to get back into the swing of my blog routine this week.  Even my Grimm just was a tangent about the “Walking Dead.”  I don’t tend to be a critic, yet I was impassioned, so I poured it out through Grimm.  Then he could be more negative than I like to be, so that was fun.

Anyway, today is supposed to be a Grimm day too, but I’m going to do Grimm tomorrow instead.  Rather here are a few more bits I’ve cut out in my editing.  Yesterday I cut out an entire chapter.   One third of a page worth of dialogue got slipped into somewhere else in the novel.  Below are a few lines and paragraphs from it (a couple excerpts were cut from other chapters).  The rest of the chapter is trashed.  Amazing.  It was a short chapter, but a chapter nonetheless.  It’s exciting when I’m able to make that kind of choice, stick with it, and feel good about it afterwards.

Tomorrow I will post Grimm, when I typically post nothing but a reblog, and I will also write a new poem.  But tomorrow will be a special day.  I have two blogger friends who have had birthdays recently and I will honor them tomorrow.

The thing about a blog I’m finding is that sometimes life can get in the way and sometimes you can be lazy and slack off.  But no one will ever fire you for it.  Like I said in my Monday post, you’re stuck with me, whether I diligently follow the schedule I set for myself, or I sway from the routine now and then, I’m here.  So thanks for being here for me.  This is the best job I’ve ever had.

Deleted excerpts from “The Opera”:

The more famous you get the smaller your world gets.  You have access to anything and everyone but it doesn’t come without the world watching.  And in the great expanse of opportunity amidst millions of viewers, your private space shrinks, closing you in, and some celebrities suffer from a sort of cabin fever as a result.


Sable is wearing a black-tie kilt jacket with a pleated formal shirt, a dress sporran, a new pair of dress ghillie brogues, cleaner kilt hose, and other formal accessories. The splints for his broken hand were removed on Friday before flying in, leaving him with sore fingers, so Jack assisted with the kilt and tying up things.


Sable smokes calmly, looking dignified in his dress kilt ensemble. If Jack didn’t know him, or his use of colorful colloquia, or didn’t see him eat, or hear him belch prior to the ceremony, he would think he was royalty of sorts, that’s how perfect he looks right now. The contrast between behavior and physical presentation is yet another oxymoron in the makeup of Sable, defining the line between being bred in a healthy environment, and being a kid on the street raising himself.


Jack’s a confident guy and doesn’t need to have his ego boosted, but he likes it. He often fell into that trap that sets a celeb couple up publicly as being each other’s trophies. Surrounded by so many people all the time, Jack trusts so few, he realizes, he’s lonelier than he thought.


As he makes his way down one wing from where he thinks a sound emerged, he hears Devin release flirtatious laughter, a hollow echo disappearing into the depths of the wine cellar. Jack stands atop the stairs at the open door and listens, hearing softer echoes, sucked into the cellar and fading away. He goes down the stairs getting the sense he’s in a horror movie, and he recalls once again Amontillado. Jack moves into a steady gallop as he becomes anxious to prevent anything from happening.


“Jack!” A paparazzo calls out, “How can you smoke if you’re an environmentalist!”

Jack ignores the question. He knows it’s not the most vegan or environmentally friendly thing to do, but he does what he can. He doesn’t need to explain himself; it’s none of their business. That’s a mistake he thinks some celebrities make, even when the point’s trivial, they feel compelled to answer to the world. There are times when people don’t have to have an explanation. It bothers him that he can do so much for a cause, but one small human weakness he exhibits and he’s condemned as a hypocrite. It’s that scrutiny that he doesn’t like. It’s not possible to be a perfect environmental messiah. Nobody in this society can possibly exist without contributing to the destruction of the planet on some level or another. How can Jack be an actor and still be an environmentalist for that matter, with all the CO2 caused by the entire film making process. Jack wants to say, I’ll plant a fucking tree! Now get off my fucking back! Instead he ignores him, feeling subdued amidst all this, habitually containing himself within his gallant persona.


Jack had auditions he walked out of feeling devastated; he was convinced he nailed other auditions, certain to get a call back or a job. Sometimes he would get three or four call backs, building an excitement like going to the top of the highest roller coaster, anticipating the drop with a surge of adrenalin raging through the body, yet the drop never happened; instead it was a slow, shattering descent.