No Writing to Report

I’ve put the writing of my book on hold. And that’s okay. I published two books in a one-year span–It’s About Impossible Crime and The Architecture of Murder. (Some might argue this is cheating because it’s basically nine short stories, I would argue that both collections are the longest books I’ve published.) I don’t have to finish The Sapphire Veil this year to make 2026 a success.

I’ve spent a good deal of time on exercise. I’ve been to Starved Rock twice this month. Both times I got a great workout- a ton of stairs and some uneven terrain. I tried to follow up the second trip with a visit to Matthiessen State Park, but my legs were jell-o after four hours hiking at Starved Rock. I only lasted 40 minutes at Matthiessen before I was gassed. At one point I slipped off a log and fell into a creek. I marched my wet ass back to the car and twisted an ankle before I got there. It was not a smooth finish.

As Clint Eastwood said, a man’s got to know his limitations.

Anyway, I’m concentrating on my health with a stricter exercise ruitine and a whole lot more walking. I might keep it up a couple more months. After my birthday in August, I’ll return to writing with renewed vigor.

That’s fine.

Just fine.

Or maybe I should be writing. What if I die next year and I never finish the thing I’m working on? I mean that came happen anytime, but I wonder if I won’t be disappointed later that I didn’t spend this time writing. Maybe I’m four books away from writing one of the greatest mysteries of all time, but I never get there because I wasted this time exercising.

I shouldn’t feel this way because I’ve been writing regularly for the past 12 months. Did I even have a break between the last two books? I can’t remember. If there was one, it was brief.

So, yeah, I’m going to cut into my writing time with working out.

I’m going back to Matthiessen sometime in the next two weeks. I will return triumphant and walk the whole park — wiser.

I’m thinking of writing a horror mystery at some point. I gotta tell you, writing “The Carny Murders” was such fun. “Red River” was heavy and I felt tied to the tone. I promised myself I would enjoy writing the next story. I haven’t felt so free in a long time. I might be addicted to that sort of dopamine.

So, I’m busy getting in shape and getting some sun. “Touching grass” as the kids say. I think I’m going to concentrate on some health goals. And hey–theortically, it means I will live longer and write more. I have no reason to feel guilty.

I’ve basically got the characters and the plot of The Sapphire Veil. There are some wonky motivations that I have to fix, and I’m growing concerned with the presentation of the second murder.

Maybe, in the next two weeks, I’ll go to the Morton Arboretum and walk the grounds without headphones. They have an amazing variety of trees. I’ll do some plotting, some patching. I’ll take notes and appreciate the trees. When I return to the keyboard, I’ll be more confident in the story and I’ll be writing with a brand new laptop (any writers have some recommendations for a good writing laptop?) This is a good plan.

And I deserve a break anyway.

And the U.S.A is going to celebrate its 250th anniversary. I was born in ’76–the 200th. There were special quarters made. I remember feeling special whenever I had those quarters as a child. Nobody uses quarters much anymore. Anyway, there are flags galore in my neighborhood. On my walk, I notice the decorations and murals. Of course, fireworks are illegal in Illinois. Every year, the cops catch people coming back from Indiana with fireworks in the trunk. You know the cops are just lighting the confiscated fireworks for their own enjoyment. I’m sure they also snort all the confiscated cocaine.

But there will be some rebels who manage to smuggle the goods into the unfriendly confines of Illinois. You’ll hear the explosions in quick bursts and then the squeal of tires as they flee in opposite directions.

And the dogs will be terrified, convinced that World War 3 has started. And the owners will start posting in the coming weeks, begging people to care about their pets. But you know what? Nobody forced you to get a dog. You knew that firework terrorism was on the table. Once a year (okay maybe 4 or 5 times a year) your dog will undergo the worst torture in the world. Your dog will cower in fear as his world explodes again and again.