News

In all the spider invasion stuff I sort of forgot that THE HARLEQUIN is number five on the New York Times list. Two weeks in the top five with a hardback with the summer line up at it’s toughest is pretty damn good. The fact that it slipped my mind to blog about it says just how much the whole creepie-crawlie situation is preying on my mind. I’m trying to be big and brave, but apparently my subconscious is not fooled.
So, two weeks in the top five, very cool.
I’ve finished eight pages on the new book. Notice I’m not calling it a novel-lite anymore, it’s a novel. I’m closing in on 250 pages and no end in sight, so it’s a book-book.
I did something this morning that I hadn’t done in months. I ran. I took our big puppy, Pippin, and we went for a walk. When our muscles were warmed up (the air was warm from the beginning, it’s like breathing soup) we ran. I do mean run. I ran like hell then had to stop. My asthma does not like summer, or fall, or spring. It’s one of the reasons I gave up jogging, because I can only run for a little while then I have to stop and control my breathing. I’ve found that what I can do is more like sprint, walk, sprint, walk. Run until I think my ability to breath is about to stop, then get it under control, then run a little more. My asthma is not going away, so if I’m ever going back to jogging, this is the only compromise I can figure out. It works; though, God, knows what the neighbors think hearing me fight for breath at the end of each sprint. It felt good to sweat. It felt good to run full out, even if only for a little while.
Back in college when I could do a six minute mile, I did not have asthma. I remember what it feels like to be able to run and breath at the same time. Oh, I did the stupid crap and ran while I threw up to the side from heat and dehydration, but not being able to breath, you just can’t push through that. It is incredibly frustrating. But since my body isn’t going to get any better except through exercise, I’m going to work with what I have, and see how it goes. Wish me good luck. I actually tired the puppy out. (By the way he’s either going to be four or five this year so he’s grown up enough to run with me without danger of injuring growing bones and ligaments. Apparently we’re going to call him the big puppy until he’s old and grey. Those crazy nicknames, you never know what will stick.)