Who does that?

September 24, 2018

Writing doesn’t end for an author.   A podcast is written for November, a radio interview is being written, the newest manuscript is in New York, and another middle grade manuscript is started.  A play is being considered for production.  Who does that?  Me.  That’s what I want to be remembered as.

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I write, therefore I am.

September 19, 2018

My case manager has to write a weekly report about me to my care team.  For some clients they watch TV all week, eat, and sleep.  Other clients go to work part of a day like my artistic roommate.  Either he has a bad day or an one hundred percent day.  There’s nothing in between.  He works three hours a day four days a week.  My case manager probably writes, “Steve is writing and watching football.” My care team doesn’t know what I’m doing.  They get emails about this and that while we play email tag confirming an appointment or a form that needs to be signed.  My real work comes at night without emails.  Another podcast is written that airs in November, the newest manuscript is marketing to agents, and writing another middle grade manuscript for my agent.  That’s an author’s life.  It doesn’t end.  To the system I’m just another statistic, but I know who I am.

Living it

September 9, 2018

“What’s up, Steve,“ Tanner says, moving some stools from the bar.  Troy, the bartender says, “Here comes trouble.  A Miller coming right up.  ”Do you have a bendable straw,” Tanner asks.  “Yes,” I say, motioning my head to the backpack on the back of the electric wheelchair.  He finds a straw and putts it in a plastic cup.  He gives a swig of beer and sits down.  Busy, my friend comes and says “Steve is here.  Go Pack go!” I yell, “Bears suck.  PACKERS!”  We sit for the next three hours watching the game and yelling at the defense.  We drink when the Packers score a touchdown and high-five each other.  Of course, the Packers win.  This happens every week, during the football season.  For the last two years.  Busy always says to me, “We need you here next week.  We love you. “ “I love you, too.”  The guys are the best.  They make me feel like another guy.  I’m so lucky … like I was in a grocery store and a woman came up to me from my second office and said, “Hi, Steve.  How are you?”  Life is good.

Carpe Diem, Vita Brevis

September 3, 2018

There has been too much death in my life these three years.  Seeing death up close makes me feel that I will die soon.  It isn’t realistic, but the mind can play tricks on you.  But I’m living life.  It’s funny how bus drivers and some of my attendants are about my life.  “Steve, you shouldn’t be here without an attendant with you,” the bus driver said, pushing the manual wheelchair up to the bar.  The bartender said, “Hi, Steve.  A Miller coming right up.” I sat there watching the Packers game and drinking.  The bartenders took turns giving me a drink until my buddy came.  He pushed me out when the bus arrived with a group of people.  Another bus driver said, “Steve,  you party animal. ”I went to the Memorial Union with an attendant.  The attendant asks, “Why do you always come to the Memorial Union?”  “ I write in my head,” I answer, staring at the high water.  My attendants don’t know what to say when I talk about writing.  A while later I ate an ice-cream cone before coming home to write.  I went to the Taste of Madison with another attendant, but a thunderstorm came.  I ate supper at the Concourse Hotel.  My sister told me after my Mom died to enjoy life and that’s what I’m doing.

steve