My dog Sam eats purple flowers,

Ain't got much but we gots ours

We dig snow and rain and the bright sunshine

...draggin' the line.

This song is in my head, over and over and over today. Now, it is profound, and a call to living in the now - it's like Eckhart Tolle with a bass beat. Who says Tommy James isn't a prophet?

everybody sing now....

I feel fine, talking about peace of mind, I'm gonna take my time..

etc.

Something I have been working on is finally nearing completion. My first novel, Correction Line, has been going through a major expansion and restructuring. This is a book I've always believed in (I am betting a lot of writer's say that) - but it is something that I have returned to over the years thinking, "Well, time to move on, a good first effort, but it's time to shelve it." When you revisit old work, whether it is artwork, songs you wrote in high school, or poems from your early twenties (yikes), the usual response is: aiighh, what was I thinking creating such tripe?

I have written and published a lot of stories since I "finished" that novel - and I've started another novel, and a novella and many more stories. I believe I have developed as a writer in technique, voice, narrative structure and even maturity. So when I gave Correction Line a close read a few months back, I thought I would go" aiighh, what I thinking...

But I didn't. The book held up well. Really well. And for the first time I believe I found what was missing (along with the help of another writer friend thank-you, Ania).

So these last few months I have been growing the novel, filling it out, deepening the narrative universe (!) - taking care not to just add filler. The first version was 63,000, this new one rounds out at 80,000.

I am very close to finishing this new version and I am feeling quite excited about it. I'll see if agents feel the same way this fall.

Here is a small chunk:

Lucy sat at a table aware of a presence, someone across from her. The room was cast in a blue light. It was like being underwater, the table, her chair, the walls swam in and out of focus. On the table shone a gas lamp, but it did not emit enough to create the effect. The man across from her wore a shirt that glowed to life, a deep yellow. She knew it was a dream. Although, she didn’t know where she slept, what other reality her body currently occupied. Her mother had taught her this awareness, and told her it was important to think of both states, be present to the dream space but stay tethered to the physical place where her body lay.

“You’re dreaming.” The man’s shirt pulsed.

“I know.”

“Am I?”

It was Dave.

“Probably.”

“You’re coming to see me. To help.” His voice warbled.

“I can’t help you. You’ll die just like mom.”

Dave stood and walked around the table, yellow light washed down his legs and spilt onto the floor. Something hummed in the distance, maybe a generator or a transformer station.

“There was a time when you would help. A time when you and I were much closer.”

The humming filled Lucy’s head and she flashed to another place. Her and Dave were outside his house, a summer day, she pruned the trees, Dave planted something. He turned and looked at her smiling, then the expression shifted, something in his eyes startled her. She knew the time, it was shortly after she had moved in with him.

Another flash and she was back in the blue room.

“ I was wrong.”

“About?”

“Everything. You, what I was doing with my life, how my father disappearing was not rejection. And mostly how being with you was a bad idea.”

Just got back from an amazing weekend at the Regina Folk Fest - the little fest that rocks. And I do mean rocks. Somehow they have placed artists like K-OS and Bedouin Sound Clash into the Folk category. It may rankle the musicologists (they are easily pissed off anyway) but it makes for some fascinating mash ups. By the way, my use of the phrase mash up is just to show you how hip I still am - and is sponsored by the old guys who think they are still hip foundation. (OGWTTASHF)

A discovery for me was the French African singer Darby Touré. The audience didn't really know what to expect when this guy came out. Two songs in the crowd was mesmerized, with half of them getting up to dance and the rest shimmying in your seats. I'd just like to say that I got out of my lawnchair and went to the stage to do my shaking and gyrating.

But the guy that blew me away was Loudon Wainwright III - he has a name and personality that should always be in caps: LOUDON! It was the second time I'd seen him this summer and I was totally drawn in by his acerbic humour and rawness. He is not everyone's cuppa (my wife will attest to that), but if you get him, you get him hard. He has that ability to get you laughing and then plunges a knife in your heart. I thought it might just be me, but looking around I saw a lot of wet eyes when he sang about his family. Even if you don't come from the dysfunctional background that Loudon does (one he created himself), you can't help but be affected by the vulnerability he displays when he sings about his family in: Another Song In C. This song basically undid me.

Taking some time in the country this past week - and hitting the road to the Regina Folk Fest tomorrow. I thought I would share the summer reading I am currently digging:

Bad Chili - Joe R. Lansdale - One of the darker Hap and Leonard stories, maybe a bit too dark. Still, I love those characters and it has a scene with a rabid squirrel that had me on the floor.

Grace (Eventually) - I love Anne Lamott and everything she writes. While not as good as Traveling Mercies, I still soak up her true-life stories. She makes being nutty seem more than okay... it's actually kind of normal.

Rock Springs - Richard Ford. Again, and again I read this book and marvel. This time I spent a long time studying "Empire". Along with "Communist", I catch myself out of the blue thinking about this story.

Simply Christian - NT Wright - simply brilliant.

Atlantic 2009 Summer Fiction Issue - some very good stuff in here. Notably Jill McCorkle's "PS" - never has a letter to a therapist been so riveting.

The Scene Book - Sandra Scofield. My latest craft book find. This is a great book for any level of writer - it reminds me a lof of Gardner's Art of Fiction. And that is damn high praise.

Just thought I'd give a shout out to... well...me. Or the other me, the illustrating one.

I revamped, relaunched, rejigged, etc. my illustration website. It links to woofreakinhoo, but I always think of it as a separate thing. Though, I have been noticing the two disciplines are getting closer together. I suppose they may culminate someday in a graphic novel - yet, that scares the hell out of me. Not the novel part, but the part about the 3 bazillion drawings that go with the text.

I will leave that up to Seth and Adrian Tomine.

Check out my new site at:

terlson.com