Three Things

1. It is -20 in Chicago today, with the wind chill. That's cold. But for some reason, it isn't making my Texan soul angry, the way it would have a year ago, or scaring me, as it would have two years ago. It does make me worry, however, that I'll never be acclimated to a cold climate, but I may lose my love of the heat and then I won't be able to live anywhere but California.

2. This is a big-ass fish. (If you don't want to register, I'll give you a synopsis. Guy catches a 121-1/2- pound blue catfish in Lake Texoma. New world record. Hey, hadn't you heard? Everything's bigger in Texas.)

3. I have taken a couple of days off writing to finish a residency application. I'm applying to a few, hoping that a couple of weeks or a month of solid writing will help me get a big jump on the novel. Wish me luck.

4. So I lied about the three things. The fourth thing is that writing a novel is hard. Damn hard. I've written short stories and articles and what-have-you, and not to say those are easy, but I've been able to hold all of the threads of those stories in my mind at the same time. Can't do it with the novel. There's just too much going on with too many people in too many places. If writing a short story or an article is a sinner praying for God to forgive him, writing a novel is saying some words that might have been a prayer at some point to a deity that may or may not be a God in a language that isn't your native tongue. Got all that? I think what I'm trying to say is that writing a novel requires a lot of faith that all of these strings and threads will eventually join together. And sometimes my can of faith is almost empty. Just like my beer.