I’m trying to write about my dog bite in a short story that also asks why do people have to hit bottom before other people will help them; are others waiting to be asked? Sure in some cases and they just don’t know…but still…there’s something nagging at me that I can’t follow through yet, anyhow the story has hijacked itself into occasional slapstick and I’m just along for the ride.
Sept 4, 2012: Dog Days. I’m very pleased with how this story that incorporates my dog bite is playing itself out. I tried to make it a serious thing with philosophical points to consider but it turned itself into outright slapstick, i.e. in the hospital the hero’s roommate gets in a screaming fight with his ex-boyfriend who bit him in the ass and it got infected. I do these things so well that it has to make you wonder.