Friday, January 28, 2011

The Writer's Birthday

You wake and you aren't sure what day it is much less that it is your birthday, but then it sneaks up on you and you go oh yeah its my birthday. So what. Another flip of the almighty digits that long ago lost all meaning like a speedometer rolling faster and faster. So what. So you go through your day. Do your bike. Have your shower. Roll through your breakfast go head up over the garage and keep that first draft going along. A scene finished in an hour or so and then it's time to head for the train. Snowing hard now.

Stop in the station and yak with the lady at the grill facing the backside of the bar. Sure you'll take a hot dog with everything on it. It's my birthday dammit so pile on the chips and give me a Mountain Dew and out the door as that big snowy Metra rolls in. Into the second car and grab the seat flipped down. The big window is your television while you eat the best damn hot dog in the world with onions relish ketchup mustard tomatoes and a big pickel as the snow swept Midwest rolls by. Farm houses and vacant fields fly by until the swollen Midwestern towns asleep in their winter slumber, Rustbelt towns nobody cares about, but you get to watch it all with your books and your paper and your warm lunch. About now you realize again it is your birthday and you are having a hell of a time.

Off at the station and into the coffee house. The same old lady is there. Doesn't she work? Of course she doesn't. Shoot some emails to the agent, the publisher. Are they ever going to get that book out there? Start reading but of course you have read it all before. Off to the bookstore. Search and search. Something good. Something timely. It's my birthday dammit. I deserve a good book. Tropper and McCarthy. Might work. You have been on a streak buying bad books lately. Back to the coffee house where the old lady gives you dirty looks because you knocked down her umbrella. Who carries an umbrella in January?

Order the big caramel roll and a lattee. Birthday remember? Slam it down and start the Tropper book. Not bad, might make it through this one. Already time to grab the train back home and the cake and ice cream with the kids and a dinner and a warm fire. Watch that Phillip Hoffman movie on Netflicks. Amazing Tormay can do those things with her body. Birthday, remember?

Movie ends and the house is dark. Another day has begun as you hit the sheets with the snow bright outside. Your daughter breathes lightly in the bed and you, you have gotten another year older. Close your eyes. Happy birthday you murmur.
Rocket Man will be out soon

Books by William Hazelgrove