We hadn’t touched the trunk of my wife’s car that got rear-ended yesterday. No touching, no looking for too long, no thinking about the trunk. While driving, we pretended the trunk didn’t exist on this model–much like how I think of my own rear end when the doctor says, “Okay, step up on the scale.” Our insurance company sent us to a repair shop where the personnel told us we needed to open the trunk and remove everything inside.
Sorry, we have trunk denial.
A tall man with a golfer’s tan and a fuzzy cap of hair that resembled a white kippah looked at our car, nodding often. “Yeah, when you open ‘er up, you’re gonna find that the plastic lining of the trunk has buckled and probably broken. Don’t worry. We’ll gitcha fixed up.”
Nice guy. I had to go back into his office and tell him that the trunk wouldn’t close.
While I was gone, my family decided to play with the camera and wallpaper of my tablet.
The guy with the kippah-shaped hair followed me out again. “Yup. Probably a good idea that you didn’t open it before you got here. That thing’d been floppin’ the whole way.”
The plastic lining had buckled and broken just like he predicted.
I Want the Old One Back
We drove home a rental Elantra, with prominent NO SMOKING stickers guarding the AC controls. No problem; both of us like smoking just about as much as we would like chewing rods of weapons grade plutonium. I thought the brake was touchy. My wife said, “I had to practically push it to the floor to get it to stop!” We both agreed the accelerator responded to any pressure greater than the weight of a paper clip.
It’s something new and different, so my son treats the car like a new pet.
Okay, but you are cleaning up after it.
My wife and I miss the back-up camera from our Cruze.
Yes, I know. This is could be the poster child for First World Problems.
In a little less than ten hours, Yancy will be here. He is my best friend, and it’s been that way for almost forty years.
He made a sword a couple of days ago for the first time and burned the hilt to bring out the grain. I’ve seen it only over a pixelated video chat. It looks like a scimitar. I can make chainmaille armor, but I have always wanted to learn to make swords. Maybe he will bring it with him tomorrow.
We will try not to put somebody’s eye out. (Have I mentioned that we are 46-year-old kids?)
He’s been taking kung fu and says that I should be able to do it. I’d like to. I need an exercise program, and since martial arts is something I love, I have a better chance of sticking with it. But, still, I am nervous. I am not only overweight, but also my back is a mess of ruptured and degenerative disks, among other issues. Maybe, though, I can approach it with kaizen.
I’m not sure how. I’m still learning which questions to ask to lead me to kaizen solutions. Kaizen is not tackling the big picture all at once; it is asking yourself, “What can I do? What small thing can I do?” When you do that, other opportunities open up that were not available in the beginning.
The Social Network Crawl
The rest of the day I have been crawling through the social network jungle, trying to network with other writers and asking what questions of craft they might have.
As of now, the most popular are
How do you find uninterrupted writing time?
How do you drag a character through hell?
I’ll might post about one or the other tomorrow, unless Yancy and I are busy. (Probably getting a Good Talking-To from my wife about the pointy end of a sword.)
If you have writing craft questions, I’d love to hear them in the comments below. I’ll answer either by comment or post or (probably) both. And if I don’t know the answer, I’ll find out for you.
Thanks for dropping by. See you soon.
WORD COUNT TOTALS FOR THE DAY
Fiction: 59 (I wrote a short paragraph instead of a sentence.)