My lovely niece (who I'll call "M" to protect her identity from vulture agents looking for an easy shop) was over for a visit. This picture was taken right after she came up to me and said, "Uncle Jerry, I want to be a writer when I grow up."
What? Obvioiusly, I was in shock. Paramedics were called. Family members pounded my chest cavity. Bottles of Jack Daniels were opened and poured on my face.
When I came out of my mini-coma, I composed myself and said to M, "that is just wonderful, sweetie. Why do you want to be a writer?"
Please, for the love of God, tell me why you want to be a writer...Then it happened. My heart was split open like a sausage cooked too long in the microwave. Benevolence flooded my head as the face of innocence looked me straight in the eye with that cute smile of hers.
Okay, this is just a passing thing...be supportive, idiot. Then M said with a straight face, "'cause I want to make the big bucks, Uncle Jerry." Blackness. Darkness all around me. No pulse. Clammy skin. Convulsions.
"uncle jerry." slap on the face. "Uncle Jerry." Two slaps on the face. "
UNCLE JERRY!" My little niece bitch-slapped me so hard, I can still see the outline of her tiny hand on my left cheek.
After an hour of manipulative pleading and prodding (by me, of course), I realized that M was really interested in her writing. I was impressed by how much she knew about my gig as an editor. "You can help me, Uncle Jerry, like you do for all those other writers." That was it--I was trapped.
We sat down at the kitchen table and began M's first short story. It is about a dog that M rescues and trains to help vision-impaired individuals. His name is Rex. He is big and fluffy. He likes to eat candy. The first draft turned out quite well, and M has hired me to edit her ms (all three pages of it).
When I asked M how she was going to pay me for my services, she said, "I'll hook you up with some Girl Scout cookies--what flavor do you want?"
Hook me up?
What? This could turn out to be a cool project for us both. I'll post the story when I get the green light from my client (or I run out of Thin Mints).
Just a quick shot of Gary and I in the "man" lift putting on the new roof. This is on the back side of the house, and this dormer is for the new master bath. I love the new black shingle roof, especially how random the pattern is. This job would have been a real pain in the ass without the lift.
Drywall in the new editing suite...coming along nicely.
Here is one of Gary on the manlift adding on to the roof. I am changing to a nice black shake roof, which will work better with the yellow siding. With both of us in the lift's basket at about forty feet, that thing sways like a damn politician!
One of the negatives about living in Nashville is the constant threat of late-winter/early-spring thunderstorms. That's yours truly on a ladder about thirty feet up trying to pull a tarp over the new master bath dormer.
Starting to take shape
Getting ready for the rain storm coming tomorrow.
The Tear-off Begins
Gary in the Hole. No Turning Back Now!
My Leg After a "Mis-step" @1#!@!?*!
My lovely niece (who I'll call "M" to protect her identity from vulture agents looking for an easy shop) was over for a visit. This picture was taken right after she came up to me and said, "Uncle Jerry, I want to be a writer when I grow up." What? Obvioiusly, I was in shock. Paramedics were called. Family members pounded my chest cavity. Bottles of Jack Daniels were opened and poured on my face. 
