I have hung juries. In 37 states, I have nearly established residency. I have watched most of all of everything on television. I can say hello in 8 languages. There is no end to my mastery of outlining pictures. For many years I have made my living as a classic novel abridger. I take my vacations at the public pool. I have darned hundreds of socks. I have a white belt in four different martial arts and credit hours at 2 prestigious universities. I put the weight back on. No one applies milk to cereal better than I. And last year, I wrote a screenplay.

Sometimes my screenplay seemed to write itself. Most times it was a heart wrenching and soul shattering process. I purchased several books on screenwriting and the forewords made it clear that my undertaking would not be an easy one, so I was not surprised when my heart wrenched and my soul shattered. No, I was prepared.

At all times I kept next to me a journal. In this journal I recorded both ideas for my screenplay and my reactions and emotions as I wrote the screenplay. I have taken to calling it The Living Account. It records. It reflects. It breathes. It is a freeform picture of an artist at work. It is a mirror which I can use to look back at my creative process. What is really stunning is that this mirror, this reflection of art, has become art itself.

Excerpt:
Please send corn dogs. Am suddenly seized by love of them. Too full of carnival goodness to resist. Quirks are the fruit of life. They are my mana. My main character cannot live on water alone. Enter his quirks. A feast of quirks. A gorging. And since I am dealing with an economy of words they will be literal and figurative. Always eating corn dogs. Everyone loves the man always eating corn dogs. He is a national phenomenon. Behold his glory. Everyone eats corn dogs. They toss off the tired stigma of carnival food and reemerge as neo-beatnik staples. The snapping of the food world.

Here is something that would not surprise me: My screenplay (already nearly finished) gets made into a successful film generating a devoted following. In the wake of that initial, if somewhat mundane, success The Living Account gets published by a small, daring press. While initially ignored by the public, critics and academics are floored, for the reasons outlined above. Slowly but steadily, the importance of The Living Account becomes apparent, even within the mainstream, and in casual conversation my name is linked with those of Kepler, Darwin, Freud, Einstein. I am not at all sure I want any of this to happen (while I am still alive) but it will not surprise me.

Excerpt:
Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Main character in desperate need of relationships. Similar to myself and inspiration. Caught in minutia. Psychology behind corn dogs. Psychology behind relationships. Actions are motivated. Plot will write itself when relationships are in place. Man who loves corn dogs also loves...blondes. Is that it? Redheads. And... conspiracy. Yes. The rush of relief from the rush of ideas. This is what love is. Not just of corn dogs, but of humanity. It feels like this. This rush. This undamming. This is love. This is how my main character feels about corn dogs, blondes, redheads, and conspiracy. Action issues from this kind of passion. Not vice versa. I was right to start here.

Just looking again at The Living Account makes me sweat. I cannot decide if it makes for what can only be described as compulsive reading or if it makes for what can only be described as thoughtful reading. I have to admit that there were days when I did not want to work on the screenplay (tentatively entitled Blonde Dog X) but did anyway just as an excuse to etch out a few more bold cantos of The Living Account.

Canto:
There. Is. No. Love. But. The. Love. Of. A. Good. Corn Dog. So sayeth I. So sayeth my main character. But my, how we have become intertwined. It hurts to turn off my computer. There is a wrenching of two linked souls. Last week I only wrote love scenes. If I look too long at my monitor my eyes burn as if it were the sun. I cannot shrink from this ferocious light! Ooooh. The exclamation point. The exclamation mark! It is just what I need to add punch to my dialogue. I'm off again!

The Living Account stirs my soul and my bowels. When I add the final few cantos (already forming in my mind!) It will be a truly complete work. I am not proud of it. I am only awed by it. When I wrote it, and even now, its power was almost draining. I need to take a rest. Now is probably the perfect time to write the Introduction to the Second Edition.

Canto:
I have written The Living Account.

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