As if hit by an epiphany, or if nothing else, the big fat stupid-stick, the workings of a new story are bubbling in the back of my mind. It's not a particularly good story, and it is by no means a complete story. In fact, I would classify it more along the lines of an idea for a story. I don't think I particularly enjoy this idea; but like the spinach I still have stuck between my teeth from my salad last night, I can't disloge it. Hence, for your reading pleasure and in the hopes that once it's written down I can forget it, I give you the idea.
In the future, when mankind is no longer tethered to Earth, in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies - the last outposts of the human empire reside. In these outposts both Justice and Injustice are found through the barrel of a gun. A place that's short on law and long on vice. Just like the cliched old westerns, all arguements are settled through a duel. This brings us to the as of yet (because I haven't come up with one) named MAIN CHARACTER, the quickest gunman in all the outposts. He's only 32 but that's old as most gunmen die young. For years he's been challenged by younger gunslingers hoping to claim his title as their own and for years he always won. During breakfast right before his most recent duel, after taking his thrid bite of bacon, he begins to have a nervous breakdown, which only grows even greater after barely surving the duel. Throughout the as of yet undecided plot he grows more and more insane believing his now erratic inner monologue to be a seperate voice than his (it isn't) that helps him predict the future (which it doesn't).
I don't have any more than that, but now that it's out, hopefully I can put it to rest.
On a side note I'm off to some book store at Columbus circle. Sarah Vowell will be either 1) signing or 2) reading from her book, or maybe both, or perhaps 3) something else all together. I'm not entirly sure, but I was told she'd be there so that's where I shall be as well.
In Which I Cry
1 week ago