Years ago I sat down at my beat up laptop--a Micron that weighed at least eight pounds--and started writing a story about an incident at Big Bear Lake. It was called "Fawnskin" and would become, really, the beginning of the West Coast Hearts cycle wherein I now find myself.
The story (linked for your convenience) is about a guitar player who is picked up in some bar after gigging then makes a break for it the following morning. It's the antithesis of glamor--something I've noticed exists in abundance on the frays of Hollywood.
We some of us are perpetually yoked to the Camaros of our lives. That was one of the themes on the story. The protagonist, Kit Burton, won't ever be anything but a vision that arrives in some mountain town and to whom a woman will attach herself because, ultimately, even mountain towns can't hold anyone down.
West Coast Hearts is much larger than this. It's taken a while to meander the floe but I do believe I'm inching closer to the end of the project in that I know what tragedy the group endures in order to be part of the larger story of California.
We're all observers and while we none us can really be Buddhists these days--we're too busy living in the fantasy of packaged beliefs and imported nomenclature, and not in the strange sometimes sad reality that is California--there is still a "golden state" at the end of every tale. That's where Dorothea Rose will find herself when it's all said and done. Whether or not she still has the gun remains to be seen.
And in case you're wondering what the update is on North of Here and Dryline Rhapsody, just click thru.
