Clinton, South Carolina, Monday, October 7, 1019, 9:38 a.m.

This blog is an intangible. I derive no tangible income from it. I hope it has some promotional value, but mainly I write it to get things off my chest. It’s therapeutic in its way.

Sometimes it’s a warm-up, like playing scales, I guess, if I could play scales. The closest I come is putting together a chord progression that lyrics will fit. At the moment, I’m not quite up to finishing the 20^th chapter of my next novel, and I’m not sure today will provide the necessary spare time. The morning is a good time to collect a few thoughts and disseminate them.

As John Belushi said in Animal House, “Grab a brew. Don’t cost nothing.” In the absence of a brew, I start writing. When was the last time I drank a beer before noon? Uh, it was at the Furman football game two weeks ago. That was also the most recent time I drank a beer.

The late humorist Tim Wilson, who went to college here, had a routine about a man stopped by a cop in a city where learning was held in disrepute. What was the punch line? I think it was, “Officer, I been readin’ but I ain’t runk,” but I’m not sure after watching a live performance on TouTube. I enjoyed the show, though. One more brick in the “I won’t be writing fiction today” wall.

Huh. Funny I should mention YouTube. My latest amateurish attempt at both commentary and music is here.

My recent days have been spent describing high school football – it’s not like the old days when one could just write; now many of us are amateur photographers, too – as well as a barbecue festival, taping the aforementioned amateurish video, and watching one hellacious heap of football, NASCAR, and playoff baseball.

Furman clobbered Samford in far Alabama. VMI upended The Citadel on local TV, which was roughly half as sweet as the Paladins’ victory. Let me pause for a moment as I knock on wood; The Citadel is coming to Greenville in two weeks. Clemson and South Carolina were idle, as the Gamecocks often are. Kyle Larson won the race in Dover, and I didn’t pick him on the radio because I have fruitlessly predicted wins by him so often that, on the radio, I compared it to a heroin addiction, which was irresponsible because I’ve never had one and cannot authoritatively write of such horror. This irresponsible attempt at humor undoubtedly contributed to Larson’s victory.

I almost picked Joey Logano, whose axle broke before the race started. I picked Chase Elliott, whose engine expired about five minutes later. It’s been so long since I’ve picked a winner that I don’t remember who it was. I’ve gotten seven right this year. I’m batting .233, or roughly the same as Jackie Bradley Jr.

The best thing about weekends is they get my mind off the country.

 

If you become a patron of mine, you’re supporting writing like this as well as my mostly NASCAR blogs at montedutton.com. If you’ve got a few bucks a month to spare, click here.

Another way I cobble out a living is with my books, a wide variety of which is available for sale here.

 

My eighth novel is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

Lightning in a Bottle is now available in an audio version, narrated by Jay Harper.