The Word of Turd

Sure, I've TALKED about it - but the Louisiana lenslinger known as Turdpolisher up and DID it. He wrote a novel! Ten days ago or so he sent me the first three chapters. I was staring at my own blank screen when it arrived; before I knew it I was racing through words I wish I'D written. Halfway past the first chapter, I set it aside. Jealousy demanded I stop reading immediately - lest my very melon explode. Now that I'm older (by about a week and a half) I willingly revisited Rick Portier's manifesto and despite my newfound maturity, I'm still a little green with envy. WHY?

Because, Writing is HARD and anyone who sits down to do it on purpose is more than a little misguided. This I know well - and I mainly just peck around in cyberspace. To actually commit to a long project like a novel is to fend off self-doubt at every syllable - with no visitor's comments to lift the spirits or buoy the soul. So far, the grind of such a protracted slog has left me questioning if I had any business stringing words together at all.

And now this hairless Cajun has delivered on his threat to complete a manuscript and he had the nerve to make it freakin' readable! Where Turd goes from here I don't know, for literary success is foreign ground to me. I just know that the three chapters he sent me is a taut plunge into the world of Louisiana news, complete with ghetto preachers, obnoxious hotties and a bruised and battered photog who's pretty sure he's shot it all. Over the top and wholly believable, profane yet elegant, Portier's latest leaves me proud, defensive and a little mad at him for making so good on his promise. I guess at some point, I'm gonna have to tell him how I feel.

Perhaps I just did.