Castles Made Of Sand

Well, ain't this just peachy! I woke up this morning to a gorgeous Florida day. The sun was shining, the churds were burping in the trees, the bees were existentially beeing, and the flowers were pooping petals, pistils, and peduncles. All appeared right, here in the paradise that is SOG City. Then [big-ass caesura goes right here], I checked on the Oracle to see if I had written anything interesting or mildly amusing lately.

To my great surprise I discovered that the Oracle had acquired a new follower. My spirits soared and I was practically orgasmic with joy - until || [I love these caesura thingies] I discovered the identity of this person. She is Keair Snyder, the published author of Castles Made Of Sand.

A published author! "But, you should be thrilled and honored," I hear the voices of the masses crying out in deafening unison. Yes, and I am, but you can't imagine the pressure that I am now feeling.

Instead of the usual drivel from the Oracle interspersed with rare moments of literary genius, I may now have to put forth some thought and effort into the stuff I publish to at least appear worthy.

Damn! I even dusted off my old copy of The Holt Handbook so that I don't come off sounding like a typical redneck cracker from Northwest Florida, which I are one of.

Life can be cruel.

“Christ, you are cruel.” He mumbled, sitting up and looking at me like I just stole his dog. “Do you at least have coffee?” I shook my head no. “A smoke?” I smiled and threw a cigarette at him. He turned it over in his hand, looking at it like a foreign object. “Would it be too much to ask for a match?” - from chapter eleven of Castles Made Of Sand.

If you don't have a Kindle or are too damn cheap to buy Keair's book, you can read it on-line.

To Keair, welcome to the Oracle.