It is four in the morning. Almost. It is just before another election and I’ve been going places I don’t know, and I don’t know how to get there. Thank God this app knows where I should go even if I don’t. Once I get there another app tells me what houses to visit. Thank God for this techie generation.
I’m shy but it’s a desperate situation. Before it’s been mostly about a war that I do anything like this, and I wonder if there is a single un-dead baby somewhere doing just fine because what we did helped a little just once to stop or scale back a war. But now it’s also the ocean heating up, fish babies… And then a gunman slaughters a group praying in a synagogue.
It’s four in the morning.
I’m a writer. I’m not a politician nor a political organizer nor even really much interested in politics. So I should be writing my novel. This political work makes little sense. But writing a novel makes no sense in these ugly times. “Be still and know that I am God.” That’s my go-to place when nothing else makes sense: It’s God’s grace, God’s fault. Be still and know.
Tomorrow I’ll get back to work and finish this damn book. I have a few hundred more pages to revise once I figure where they occur. Originally it was Toronto, but that never made sense. Vera could not get across the border, not again. She’s in the United States illegally so crossing a border is not an option. It’s a miracle she’s never been caught. I’m giving too much away here. I’ll have to hit the delete key and delete some of this. I need to write the book, not write about the book. And I need to encourage people to vote.
I am so done this book. Only it’s not done yet. Almost.