There's a book editor on Owl Creek Rd.

But you'd never know it.

Unless you were me.

Unless you went against the grain. Against the tide. Against your friends. Against your family. Against the governor's latest orders.

I'm trying to think of any more things or people that have a grain I could go up against. I'm sure there are a sh*t ton more.

So many grains, so little time.

I know I've said it before. Heck I've probably even said it right here before.

I simply cannot / cannot / CANNOT be surprised anymore when these things happen, or in this way. The universe has it out for me. The God of the universe decreed it should be so. If I didn't believe before I believe now. I've also said that before but I will say it again because apparently I have a short term memory when it comes to being amazed. I've always believed there are greater forces at work but this is just getting silly.

I'm supposed to be in Tennessee. I'm supposed to be looking for a job. I'm supposed to be getting a job. Getting on with life. Getting on with finding a place to live. Getting on with...

Finding a book editor?

Seems pretty low priority considering how few authors make a living from their work, let alone any legitimate amount of money from it.

But ok yes, I need an editor for the book I just wrote about the movie I just made and about the virus taking the wind out of the sales of said movie.

But I haven't even explained what happened.

Blame it on Emerson.

It was a Thursday morning but I'm not sure that matters. I have two friends who are both broken. Listen I'm broken too so don't think I'm judgmental Judy all of a sudden, it's just observing and reporting 101 for Paul Blart's sake. So friend A said friend B could live at their place for awhile as long as they didn't do thing C. At least not on the property. When B started doing thing C friend A said look B you just can't do that or else ya gotta find living situation D cause this just isn't working.

And it wasn't.

Which is too bad because at the beginning it was working. And it was really a beautiful thing. A friend helping another friend when they were sick and broke and may have had covid and the whole nine. (fortunately the test came back negative so all good).

But hey everyone's got rules and friend B just couldn't abide by A's rules so there's the D door. I happened to be at friend A's place too since leaving wine country and trying to make bikes with welder E and because I was supposed to make a movie funded by non-profit F.

It didn't seem this complicated at the time, but writing it out yeah.

Just before Thanksgiving my reasons for being there fell apart like a house of cards. Welder E exposed himself as being a dill, not wanting thousands of dollars of income going into the holidays because he would not weld my Homestead bike to Homestead specs. I still don't fully understand. And then non-profit F wasn't returning phone calls which is fine because movies can take awhile to fund so whatever but with more lockdowns and hypocritical politicians ordering people to avoid family while planning to see their own kin I knew the open road was calling.

Hypocrites and dills, one at a time fine but I can't usually suffer both.

So I was moving on from friend A's just as B was realizing his disobedience was forcing him to move out and since moving sucks friend B had left in a flurry just after I had left not in a flurry but all that to say we had both left a few items at A's place.

Me - a Haro Freestyler BMX flatland bike and friend B had left Emerson. Not a newer book store Emerson but a real Emerson. A cool Emerson. An Emerson with character.

So I had to go back.

A dental appt and the holidays had made it all possible, so I returned to CA on a plane filled with masks and hopefully fresher air.

"Hey can ya pick up my Emerson" said friend B. "After all you were the last one reading it."

And in fact I was.

So when I walked in to where friend B had been staying that's when I met Jon. Jon was passing through but maybe not. Maybe he and his girlfriend would be staying through the winter, I was told. And what did Jon do? I asked.

"Oh, he's a writer," said friend A, "or maybe an editor, that's right he's a book editor." She said.

A book editor. At the end of Owl Creek in Nevada City. During lockdowns and travel bans. Who I found because I had to go back and pick up a book of poetry by Ralph Waldo Emerson. And a bike.

I've grown less cynical and more hopeful since my youth but there's still NO way even I would have thought this was how I might find an editor for a book about BMX and filmmaking, and of course life.

And where's Jon now?

At the moment Jon is downstairs reading the sample copy and deciding if he'd like to be the editor.

My.

Goodness.

The theme of 2020 for the world at large seems to be, "what now?" or "you can't make this sh*t up."

Me? I'm going with "trust and obey" –

Your dreams are right and true, and certainly truer than the bs floating through the airwaves of late. Ok fine, I'll admit the 2020 mantra of:

Sounds pretty good too.

Let's ring in the New Year with both.

Cheers.