A Study in the Effect of Lou Reed on the Removal of Limbs From Trees

This afternoon, I ventured out into our yard and, armed with nothing but a rusted hand saw, attempted to cut down a tree. I would call this a medium sized tree, nowhere near as large as will probably come to mind when one reads “I tried to cut down a tree with a small hand saw”, but still a bit too large to properly saw down by hand.

So I decided I was better off removing the branches I could reach. They were still quite thick and gave me a fair amount of trouble. I was frustrated, to say the least, at the prospect of being bested by a tree. In retreating to the house, I had a glass of water, and decided I needed musical accompaniment.

Once I returned outside, the sun warming my back, Lou Reed crooning Coney Island Baby in my ear, I resumed my efforts against my wooden enemy.

Suddenly, it seemed so much easier. The saw seemed to slide with very little difficulty and I was able to remove every limb within my reach after what seemed to be a much shorter bit of time. Which leads me to the following astonishing conclusion:

Lou Reed’s dulcet tones weaken a tree’s defenses against a rusty hand saw.

Go forth and tell the masses.

My hands are blistered, my arms are sore and I feel manly, in a very silly man-against-nature sort of way.

Although there is still much work to be done out there and reportedly a few thunder storms on the way.

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Speaking of Lou Reed, here is an mp3 of him reading Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven.

Enjoy.

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I’ve recently discovered, over at the Barnes & Noble website, an audio interview series entitled “Meet The Writers”.

Here are some of the more interesting interviews:

Terry Pratchett

Neil Gaiman

Christopher Moore

Terry Brooks

Eoin Colfer

R. A. Salvatore

There’s quite a few other very interesting ones from many different genres (those I’ve linked above are authors in the SF game). Click around and give a listen.

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The second prologue bit is slowly, yet steadily, moving forward. The word document is open in a background window as I type this. Contemplating how much to show and to whom I wish to show it.

Perpetually Sunday and A List of Excuses

I went to sleep Sunday night and awoke Monday morning to find it was still Sunday. At least, it felt that way to me.

When I awoke Tuesday morning, it still felt like Sunday, until I’d realized I’d had to work. It’s now 4:23am on Wednesday morning and as I kissed the wife and wished her a safe trip to work, I thought ahead to an afternoon full of yard work and dishes and the sort of thing one associates with Sunday afternoons.

I’m beginning to think I’ve fallen into some sort of mental time loop, in which I will forever feel as though it’s Sunday, even though it’s Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday.

I’m not sure it’s such a curse at all, actually.

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With Monday being our anniversary, and Tuesday turning out to be the sort of day in which one spends the better part of an afternoon organizing the cooler of a convenience store, I’ve gotten very little writing done over the past two days. Thus, I find myself befallen to one of the single worst trappings a writer can find him or herself in; excuses.

I’m too tired.

I’ve no time.

I don’t feel well.

These are all common things to be said by a writer who has begun a novel. Granted, the only thing I thought of on Monday was the wife, and Tuesday found me to be both exhausted and sore, but I still should have made some time to write.

And I am ashamed.

Even though today’s schedule will be one full of cleaning house, yard work and important phonecalls, I will make time to write. A thousand words a day has proven to be a bit more difficult, given my schedule, than I had originally anticipated, but I will make every attempt I can.

No more excuses.