A day that is humble and slow and gradual and enjoyable. A day that has yet to finish, but will do so on a good note, I’m sure.

The serial novel experiment of Stephen King lies back on its shelf, the nook and cranny of each letter having been devoured by my lustful eyes and mind. I count myself lucky that the movie (which I also own) did nothing to spoil the novel version of the story, nor vice versa. I leave that little universe knowing full well that there are people in this world that are much like John Coffey. How do I know such a fantastic thing? I’ve been lucky enough to bask in their existence from time to time.

A good evening and a decent dinner was had with a Texan. We ate in the middle of the movie-set mall that just went up on Lake Lansing Rd. Eastwood Towne Center, or something nearly as plastic. I had no excuses for my friend when he asked why I was stuck on my novel, and I thanked him for pointing it out to me. I wandered throughout Schuler’s Books, and realized that I can bring people into my world, and share my stories, and twist and bend their minds to conceive of something just outside of their boxed realities. I can do this. And I will.

Now, I rocket forth to a shop with the name of our current block of 100 years to mull over my characters and then to watch rapidly changing drawings originating from the Land of the Rising Sun. I put my trench coat on, and say that none can stand in the way of my brilliant smile.