the tree of woe

I like it when I see someone’s brand new Facebook status. You know, when it says something like “Updated 3 seconds ago.” I feel like I’m doing something exciting rather than wasting time on Facebook.

I’ve decided to abandon my last book. It wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I’ve started writing a cookbook. In the style of Hemingway. (If you want the real recipe, it is here.)

Honey Glazed Salmon

“It is time for us to make the honey glazed salmon.” said the cook. “After we make it, we will eat it. Eating it will make us healthy and strong.”

“You have gone forty days without finishing a meal, cook.” said the boy.

“Yes, I know.” said the cook. “But today is the forty first day. If we cook right and true and honorably, we will have a delicious meal to eat.”

The cook got out a shallow glass dish. He put honey, sherry, soy sauce, lime juice, gingerroot, and mustard into the dish with the salmon. The salmon sat in the dish.

“Why do we eat salmon?” asked the boy.

“We eat the salmon, because the salmon is good. The salmon gives its life to us so that we may have life. We must love the salmon like a brother. I love you, salmon, but I am now going to eat you.”

The boy gave the cook a weird look.

The cook coated a grill rack with cooking spray and arranged the salmon fillets, sides not touching. He cooked them 4 inches from the heat source until they were cooked to desired doneness — 8 to 10 minutes. He used a wide spatula to carefully turn the fish only once halfway through the cooking. He placed the salmon fillets on warm dinner plates. He served them with rice and garnished them with sliced scallions.

As he carried them to the table, he felt his hands start to cramp. “Why are you cramping? You must not cramp, because if you cramp, I will not be able to carry the food to the table so that we may eat and the salmon may give us life.” But the cook’s hands cramped, and he dropped the plates to the ground.

The cook sat on the ground by the salmon. The boy picked up the plates and put them in the sink. The boy cried, and said, “Tomorrow I will make another meal with you.”

“No,” said the cook, “I am not a good cook. I will now sleep, and tomorrow will be a new day.”

I’d like to share something. This is an excerpt from my upcoming book, “The Entering Light.” It’s part Jane Austen novel, part instruction manual for an Olympus E3 camera.

Chapter III: Exposure

“I dare say,” stated Mrs. Johnson, “I do think Mr. Brimbley will be in town for only another fortnight. It is a shame for such a handsome single man with such a large fortune should continue to go unmarried.”

Dorothea wasn’t listening, but instead looking out the window at the beautiful field that lay before Dunhill Manor. She spied several deer running this way and that nearby. She set her shutter speed to 1/500th of a second in order to freeze their motion, and then turned around to address Mrs Johnson.

“Really, what interest could Mr. Brimbley have in me? It is very unkind of you to propose such an idea, when Mr. Brimbley has made no such advances. He certainly has shown due kindness and gentleness, but I fear that my stature and demeanor find no favor in his eyes.” Her eyes started to water, and her lips trembled, as did her hands. She flicked a switch, and turned on the Image Stabilization.

At that very moment, Mr. Brimbley opened the door. The beautiful morning sun poured in and brightened the room. Dorothea decreased her apeture.

“Dorothea, I’m afraid I’ve made a horrible error.”

“What error is that?” she inquired. “Have you miscalculated your snuff usage, or did you accidentally lend your top-hat to an Irish-man?”

“I’ve made a mistake far graver than either of those offenses.”  Mr. Brimbley then procured, from his waistcoat pocket, a ring. It was difficult to see from across the room. Dorothea zoomed in as close as she could. The image in the viewfinder became difficult to see through her tears.

Deep breath in. Imagine you’re on a cloud. It’s very puffy and soft. Exhale.

Deep breath in. You’re on another cloud. Make this one a nimbus cloud. Exhale.

Deep breath in. You’re in a field. There is a man standing at the other end of the field. He looks like Ted Danson, but as you get closer, you realize it’s a moose. Exhale.

Deep breath in. Feel the oxygen in your blood. Imagine what it would feel like to be carried down a river on your own hemoglobin. Exhale.

Deep breath in. You’re in the woods, surrounded by gophers. In fact, the gophers have made you their king. All hail the great Gopher King! They bring you spiced meats and you declare it to be good. Exhale.

Deep breath in. You are reading a book. You start shrinking. You shrink to the size of the individual letters! Rearrange them to form a new book, taking care not to ruin the structure of the plot. Exhale.

Deep breath in. Look down. Where your torso should be, you find instead the body of a cello. An Italian man purchases you for a large sum of money, due to your exquisite tone. Exhale.

Deep breath in. You are a cow. You try to speak, but incoherent noises are all you can generate. This is because you are in Southern Louisiana, and only speak Cajun French. Exhale.

Good job, everyone. See you next month.

The next band I start(this will also be the first band I start) will be called Various Artists.