I set my alarm for 2am this morning and begrudgingly rolled out of bed about thirty minutes later.  I’d prepared most of what I needed the night before.  Packing warm clothes isn’t a well-tuned skill of mine,  but so far so good.

I’m in New York State.  Nyack, to be exact.   Tomorrow,  I’ll be shooting Letchworth Village (known to those who’ve even heard of it at all as an abandoned insane asylum).  I’ve somehow convinced a credible Brooklyn based photographer whom I admire to tag along for this.  Hilariously, I have a black eye right now, and this will be our first encounter.  I did tell him in advance.  Part of me wants to be…well, ME… and when he arrives at the coffee shop to meet tomorrow, run screaming from him while begging for strangers’ help.  “It was HIM!!!”  But really, the eye could be worse, and I feel like that’s at least a second hang type thing.  So, Stephen, you’re in the clear.  And just to be precise, I literally fell on my face skating the other day.  Right on my cheekbone.  Exactly like being punched in the face.  Shit could be worse.  I’ll heal.

The novel is taking shape, mostly in an awkward fashion and pretty backward, but it’s happening. I’ve started a Patreon Page here: I’ll send you a handwritten postcard for a dollar  (no really I will)  For those who are interested in funding the journey…even a dollar goes a really long way.  Patrons will be given access to the plot development and introduced to the characters along the way.

What I can say about the novel here is that its fiction.  But not.  But is.  My life is definitely in there.  It’s comprised of meandering, depressive, forlorn, sanctifying and compelling typewriter written letters that embellish grief in a palatable and attractive way.  It’s my life, told to a stranger, through letters.  Many of them are already written.  Many posthumous amends and respects have already been paid by writing them.  If you want to know and support more…you know what to do.

Part of the research that goes into this relies upon interviews, by me, of other artists.  Enter The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  I’d like to give official thanks to Virgin America Airlines for including this as an option in their Indie Film section.  As I watched it on the plane earlier, I was reminded of the first time I saw it. I was 14.  It changed my universe. My girlfriend was forbidden by her parents to ever view it.  I made sure that it was our next sleepover VHS selection.  My epiphany today was that all seemed right in the world when I first saw that film 25 years ago.  I, shockingly, had something resembling that same feeling today while watching it again despite having a mentally disabled and incompassionate imbecile running our current state of affairs.  I actually still felt like all was right.   So I wondered…how do others feel?  I’m going to ask. There is a demographic to which this applies, I realize.  But you can trust us.  I promise.  Stephen, you may be the first candidate for this tomorrow.  I’ll buy the wine.

Lastly, the current temperature in Nyack is 26 degrees.  Here’s a picture of when it Wasn’t. Enjoy your weekend.