Strange Day.
I got up this morning, prepared to watch "CBS Sunday Morning" while I ate my eggbeaters and oatmeal, and while I was reading my email, the power went off. No lights, no heat, no electric stove, no breakfast. Not to be defeated, I loaded Jack (my Jack Russell) and went to a little cafe
called The Whistle Stop, taking along a book because I usually eat alone. (The locals are wary of the "writer fellow.") My book is a truly depressing short story collection (I like depressing!), The Dying Light by Donald Hays. However, half-way through my breakfast, a fellow named Gerald who has retired to this area showed up. We had a conversation about the Lumbee Indians, the Lost Colony, a tragic fellow named Buffalo Child Longlance and the fact that the little town of Dillsboro is dying. (It has been abandoned by its only tourist attraction, the Smoky Mountain Railroad.) Damn, it is nice to talk to someone who reads books, watches movies and loves history!

Back home again, the power is on and my computer is hopping with news. Two friends of mine are eager to discuss the idea of publishing a journal, and a blog called The Writer's Porch has published an interview with me. The day looks promising. I've been edition a short story for submission to a regional publication, and I waste a couple of hours revising my "Listen to the Mockingbird" story. I'm thinking of venturing out to the local used book store which would be an ideal way to spend a few hours.