Spies Have Timing

I guess I should start a countdown to June 28, the day The Hunter comes out in stores. Except that I don't know what date it is, LOL*.

This has been my problem since leaving high school. I have no concept of time and date whatsoever; I still don't know how I manage to pay my bills on time. It comes from waking up and going straight to work every day. When one does that, one stops caring whether it's Monday or Sunday, and then after a while, one even lose count of what year it is. I know this because I used to work seven days a week non-stop, even through big holidays like Thanksgiving. One time I didn't even realize it was Halloween until I saw these kids all dressed up for Trick Or Treat! Sad, isn't it?

Writing has given me back some sort of awareness of living in a time-ordered dimension ;-). I'm now rearranging my sleeping pattern so I can write more. O'm checking the calendar to see whether I imagined my deadline was next month (usually, I'd find out that the deadline is actually the next week...). I'm making annual resolutions to read ONE book a month. Pathetic, I know, but last year, I couldn't even keep this simple promise.

In short, I'm looking to squeeze in more time everywhere. Bleed a few minutes in between a spoonful of lunch. Steal some early morning sleep time for a few paragraphs. Stretch those precious midnight minutes before bedtime. Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for sympathy because this is my choice. It's something I seem to thrive at--the pressure of knowing that time isn't on my side ;-).

I've found out that I can, under extreme pressure, put out twenty pages in a twenty-four hour period if I have to. This is from a girl who only does two to four pages a day for years. Of course, I don't think I can do this EVERY day because my brain will fry, which by the way, always brings up the inevitable hysterical exclamation in the dead of night, a lone voice of a desperate writer: "How does she (Nora Roberts) do this all the time?!!!" LOL.

It's good to know that uber-roofing non-stop has prepared me for pressure-cooker uber-writing. It just shows, that no matter what you do in life, each act has an effect on another, and that there is ultimate meaning in life. Goodness. I need a funny stupid story after that profound discovery.

Ranger Buddy and I used to have a very big fellow worked with us. His name was...Big Man. LOL. Big Man was quick-tempered and VERY LOUD when he lost his cool. And he wasn't an especially deep man.

Anyway, one day, we worked in Orlando till dark, which was around 8.30pm. It takes about an hour an the half (at RB-speed) to reach home and Big Man was stewing. He was so mad, we didn't need the heater to warm up the truck. RB then did his classic "I'll take a shortcut, son! I'll take you home in a jiffy!"

RB's shortcut meant heading into the unknown, as Big Man and I knew. "NOOooo!" Big Man roared as I settled in for a long night home.

"Awwww, come on, son, don't you trust me?" RB said. "We'll just make this one turn here and we'll be home faster than you can say..."

"NoOOooooo!"

RB made the turn. Fifteen minutes later, the road turned really gravelly. Everything was dark. There were no lit-up buildings anywhere. A sign popped up in front of our headlights. RB drove close to read it.

"Jo's Famous Fish Camp," he read matter-of-factly. "Well, where the hell are we?"

"NoOOooooooo!" Big Man roared, in the middle of a fish camp, waking up hundreds of sleeping fish. "YOU F*&(^#%*@! I knew it! *#*&^#*!+-%!!! I am going to &^#^$@o*& KILL YOU!"

RB didn't say anything as Big Man's rage echoed across a body of water, back and forth. It was kind of amazing to hear that in the quiet of the night, actually.

"Son, you're going get us shot by some mad fish hunters!" RB said.

"Yeah, Big Man, they have fish-guns and we don't!" I chipped in. Hell, why not get into the spirit of things? "Sure don't wanna die out here coz no one will ever find us!"

Big Man, who was also more frightening loud than brave suddenly shut up. He wound up the window and didn't say another word till RB, through some miracle, found the way back to the freeway.

Silence. Absolute steaming brewing stewing silence.

"Hate to ask you, son, what time is it?"

Big Man ripped off his watch. He slammed it onto the dashboard with the loudest smack ever. He punched his big fist onto the face of the watch. "TIME IS MEANINGLESS!" he yelled out in frustration. "Time is nothing! Time is absolutely unimportant and meaningless!"

I was laughing so hard I couldn't stop. Big Man being profound was the funniest thing I've ever seen.

"There you have it! That's what I want to hear! I'm proud to have you as my son!" RB beamed, totally impervious to the violence trembling through Big Man's six foot three body sitting next to me.

Big Man stared hard at RB. Then joined us in our hyterical laughter as we made our way home.

I know, I know, this story isn't funny unless you were there, but this was a moment in time that I never forgot. I still wonder about the poor campers who were awoken by Big Man's Very Loud Screams that night. They must have thought someone had been murdered.

OK, I checked my email: 23 Days to THE HUNTER in a bookstore near you!

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