dirty old man

Now, this time say it with me, but with a British accent: “Yuh a duhty olde mahn, bubba. Wot a filthy olde buggah, you ah!” There, now don't you feel better? I know I do. Now back to bidness.

Well. I’ve gone and made some major changes to the novel. I cut out almost half the original characters—suckers have been dropping like flies. I realized there was quite a bit of redundancy, with two or three characters carrying the weight which one could easily heft, making them much too one-dimensional. This allowed (required) me to tighten up the storyline(s), so it’s starting to look much more manageable.

But. However more manageable it has become, one thing I have noticed is that all of a sudden there seems to be quite a bit of sex going on. Where the hell did that come from? Everybody is shtupping everybody else! It's rally quite disgusting, you know. What I had intended to be a serious story is turning into erotic literature. Ah, who am I kidding? Can I in all seriousness attach the moniker “literature” to what I write? Not this piece of hackish trash. Maybe it would work as a screenplay for a porno? Do porno’s even have screenplays? And why all the sex? Hmmmm? A lackanooky at home driving this?

Oh, and what was that about intending it to be a serious story? Me, serious? I can't open my mouth without cracking a joke, or making a wisecrack. Haven't my wife and daughter pointed this out to me umpteen times? “Can't you be serious about anything? Why does everything have to be a joke to you?!” So. They're right, of course. And of course, of course...A horse is a horse, of course, of course, And no one can talk to a horse of course. That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mister Ed. So of course, I never intended it to be serious. Of course not.

But there is humor, and then there is humour. So humor me for a second while I cogitate on what type of humour my novel might exhibit.

The other day, well, it was yesterday, actually, I was listening to something on youtube on my phone on the way home. What was I listening to, you ask? Why the song from Blazing Saddles, you know the one, the one Madeline Kahn sings on stage, “I'm Tired.” And why was I listening to it? Well, my boss mentioned he was tired, and used a line from that song (he loves quoting from Blazing Saddles, but then again, who doesn't,) and I realized I hadn't heard it in a while, so I found it on youtube, and enjoyed it on the way home. And then I remembered that Madeline was in another of my favorite movies, “Young Frankenstein.” And then I started thinking about my book, which I spend most of my waking hours thinking about. And I thought to myself, if I am truly myself with this thing, and write it how it would amuse me, wouldn't it be along the lines of a Mel Brooks film? I don't know, I'm just riffing out loud, you know? Mainly the Scotch talking. But when 16 yo Lagavulin talks, shouldn't one listen?

Interesting little side note: I wanted Mena (one of my major characters) to stay with a family in my little German town, and have the husband be the Burgermeister (please forgive the missing umlaut) there. When I looked the town up in wikipedia, just to make sure it actually has a Burgermeister (because, you know, my knowledge of how local German government works is woefully thin,) I was surprised to see that the current one’s last name is the Germanized version of my own Polish name! How weird is that? Is that a sign I’m on the right track? I’m not superstitious, not in the least, but when things like that happen...