Deciding What to Write
I think I’ll write another book, an eye catcher and a crowd pleaser about a boy made of wood with a long nose who gets eaten alive by termites and how what’s left of him is swept into a dustpan and dumped out a second story window and blown by the wind across the ocean to a land where everything is made of balsa wood and his dust settles on the balsa wood and turns it into black onyx which has the effect on the populace of turning them black too and causing the men to grow seven feet tall with strong bodies and perfect pitch and the women to commence giving birth to babies after only a two-week gestation period so that in short order the population of The Land of Balsa increases twenty-fold and everyone begins building war ships. Soon an armada sets sail for the land of the wooden boy, hits the beaches and lays waste to everything.
That’s just the first chapter. From there on out astonishing things begin to happen, like the warriors begin having sex with the native women who give birth to wooden babies.
It’s hard to know where to go from there.
Maybe I’ll make it a short story instead of a novel, send it off to The New Yorker, then cross my fingers.