More like too many projects in my Scrivener folder. I briefly mentioned before that I was working on three books a couple months ago. Since then, I started working on a short story and another novel.

I thought I would be devoting the lion’s share of my writing efforts to Finn’s Descent, the follow up book to Sawyer’s Run. I have the general outline of the book laid out and written a few chapters but then the story stalled out. I don’t want to force it and make it suck in the process, so I have taken my foot off that accelerator for now.

The non-fictional book I was writing about an unsolved murder on the Appalachian Trail has barely gotten off the ground. I’m still in research phase on that one and being stymied by lack of details into the investigation due to it still being considered an active case. This one will probably require boots on the ground investigating. That can be quite a daunting task to an introvert with a bit of social anxiety. By happenstance, the LeeLander is currently in the area where the murder took place and the city police that first investigated it before turning it over to the FBI, but I’m here dealing with my traitorous liver and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for investigative forays.

I still drop an episode from time to time on my Kindle Vella story, Tales of the RVidiots: Year One, but nobody is reading them, so it’s kind of a demotivator. I’ll still finish it, because I plan on combining all those episodes into a full novel when they are done.

That brings me to my, as of yet, still untitled, short story. I got the idea for this one while stuffed inside an MRI machine for the aforementioned lily liver. It’s more of a Sci/Fi yarn that I was thinking of dropping on Amazon for 99 cents. I also wanted to hand this one off to my wife, Michelle, who has an urge to edit. She’s already good at editing my real life, might as well see how she does with my fantasy life. I was steadily banging this one out until I went on a backpack trip for the Labor Day weekend.

One of the things you get to do while backpacking is to be alone with your thoughts. All kinds of things run through your head, including ideas for stories. One struck me on that trip and stayed with me until I got back. As tired as I was, I wasn’t back an hour before I had to jump on to Scrivener and at least lay out an outline for the idea, just so I could reduce the pressure in my brain. From there, things took off like a wild fire! I’ve been steadily banging out the story for almost two weeks now. The words just keep flying out of me and I find myself hours into a writing session when I thought only a short time had passed. Just last night I brought my laptop to bed at 9 PM to “just finish a scene” I told Michelle. Next thing I knew it was 3 AM. I have written 25,000 words in the two weeks since I started and I’m not even a quarter of the way through the outline of the story. New ideas keep constantly hitting me as my fingers fly over the keyboard. I love it! It’s like a drug. If I can’t get buzzed on alcohol anymore, I’ll take this as a substitute. As a comparison, all of Sawyer’s Run was approximately 30,000 50,000 (miscounted on my original post) words and I am on pace to exceed that by far. I hope the 25,000 words I have written so far are good words. I feel like they are, and coming from a person with imposter syndrome, that’s saying something. Here is a (very rough) excerpt from what I have written so far. I’ll give you just a basic synopsis. It’s about a guy hiking on the Appalachian Trail. I know, I know! Big shocker there, right? Write what you know they say. It’s not just a hiking story, though. There is a kicker to the main character’s motivation. You’ll probably figure it out from the excerpt, but that is all I am going to say for now. I haven’t settled on a permanent one yet, but the working title is I’m Thru-Hike. Check it out below if you’d like.

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The next morning I slept in to the late late hour of 8 O’Clock. Hooker Tush was still in his bunk as were a few other hikers. As quiet as I could, I extracted myself and made my way to the kitchen. I casually glanced around for pixie girl but didn’t see her. She was probably back on trail and moving further north every minute. There was a hiker making pancakes and bacon and ordered me to have some. It was an order I was happy to follow. I took my plate in to the common room and sat on the couch with a coffee table in front. There were two other male hikers sitting on a love seat. By the sound of their conversation, they were not lovers. They had not planned on zeroing today but one of them, who had the obvious signs of a hangover, was trying to convince the other to do just that. The other one wasn’t having it and practically dragged the hurting hiker out the door after forcing him to don his pack. That dude was gonna be a hurting unit on the trail today. There were some advantages to not drinking and the lack of hangovers was right at the top of that list.

After finishing my breakfast, I relaxed in the common room, listening to the last of Uncle Stevie’s tale. I would have to make sure to download another audio book before leaving town. I felt a plop on the couch and looked over to see Hooker Tush sitting there with a plate of cold pancakes and sausage. He didn’t look all that great himself.

“How you feeling there, Tushy?” He gave me a look that made me put my hands up in submission.

“I’m fine. Nothing that some greasy food and a little hair of the dog won’t cure.”

Ugh, I was never a fan of hair of the dog. It did not work for me, only made things worse. “I don’t think there is any hair left around here, dog.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Well, where do you plan on getting said hair?”

“Remember that place we saw yesterday downtown called the Lazy Hiker?”

“Yeah.”

“Its a brewery and I heard it was pretty good. You wanna come with?” His face then changed as something dawned on him. “Oh, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s OK. I’ll come, but only if you let me sniff your beer.”

“As long as that is the only hair you are sniffing.”

“You don’t have any hair, unless you are talking about the ones on your tushy!”

He punched me in the arm; hard.

By the time we got cleaned up and walked back downtown it was closing in on noon. I couldn’t partake of the fermented refreshment at the brewery but I hoped to consume some of it’s food. As it turned out, the brewery itself didn’t serve food, but I was saved another trip to Micky D’s by a food truck that was parked outside. The brewery allowed you to bring the truck food inside. HT and I grabbed a greasy burger and went inside. The Lazy Hiker was set up as a trail themed taproom. There were several tables positioned about and they had a huge yard out back with a stage for special events. There were quite a few people out in the yard and HT expressed his desire to be crowd free for the time being, so we selected a high top table not far from the front door and deposited our food.

“I’m after that hair,” HT told me.

“Can you grab me a coke or something while you are up there?”

“You got it, Squad.” He headed over to the bar and came back with a draft and a plastic cup of soda for me. “Rum and Coke, very easy on the rum,” he said as he handed me the coke.

“Funny. What did you get?”

“It’s called Trail Mate Golden Ale.” He took a sip then said, “Ahhhhh.” As promised, he passed the beer under my nose to let me get a sniff. It smelt like it would taste sublime.

The door opened and in walked the pixie girl! She swung her head back and forth looking around the room, then looked back in the direction of the door with what seemed like a worried expression on her face. She scanned the room again and spotted us. Making a beeline to our table, she withdrew one of the stools and sat down. “I’m with you guys,” is all she said.

HT and I both looked at each other but before either one of us had a chance to speak the door opened again. In walked a guy with a scrubby beard, in all likelihood, marking him as a thru-hiker. He spotted us, or more accurately, pixie girl, and came our way. “Hey, Starlight! I thought that was you coming in here. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, Panther. How about yourself?” she replied.

“Good. Just got into town and heard you were here.”

“Yup, I am here meeting my Dad.” Starlight (I guess her trail name was) indicated Hooker Tush with a flip of her hand.

HT choked on his Trail Mate Draft and began to cough. I slapped him on the back a couple of times; hard. He recovered and said, “Yup, that’s me. Trail name Hooker Tush, not as bad as it sounds. Nice to meet you.” Panther gave him a half-hearted wave and looked at me.

I decided to get in on the fun. “Brother,” I said. “Suicide Squad. We are going to be hiking with Starlight for a bit.” Panther was no more interested in my trail name than he’d been in HT’s, but Starlight gave me somewhat of a look when I said it.

“Oh, cool,” Panther said. “I was hoping we could hang out a bit Starlight.”

“Maybe later. Right now I need to catch up with my Pops and Bro.”

There were only three chairs at the table and as of yet, nobody had offered to get one for Panther. He stood looking at us awkwardly. We sat looking back. He finally spoke up. “OK, cool. I need to do resupply anyway. I heard you were at Gooder Grove Hostel. I’m there tonight too. I’ll catch up to you later.” I could see her face grimace at that news but Panther was oblivious. He turned around, and with one backward glance at Starlight, exited the brewery.

“Thanks you guys!” Starlight said.

“Anything for you daughter dear,” HT said. We all three laughed at that.

“Got yourself an admirer, huh?” I asked her.

“Oh gawd! He’s a pink blazer of the highest order. Been bugging me since Neels Gap.” Pink blazer was a relatively new trail term to me but I had heard a few hikers talking about it before. It’s when a man or a woman, but mostly man, gets infatuated with another thru-hiker and dogs them down the trail, following them wherever they go.

“Lucky you. Prey to the Panther,” I said.

“Ha! His full trail name is Sex Panther. You know, like the cologne Brian Fontana wears in Anchorman?

Wow, this girl was quoting pop culture references from Judd Apatow movies? I knew there was a reason I liked her at first sight. “Well it does smell like Bigfoot’s dick,” I said, quoting another line from the movie.

“Holy shit, Squad!” HT admonished me.

Damn, maybe I had gone too far. Starlight busted up laughing and told HT that it was a line from the movie, and besides she had thicker skin than most women. “I’m not really sure what Bigfoot’s dick smells like, but I’ll definitely pass on Sex Panther’s. He said a woman he met the first night on the trail gave him that name, but I bet you a million bucks he gave it to himself. I’ve tried to out hike that fucker and I know I’m faster, but he keeps showing up out of nowhere. I’m convinced he is yellow blazing.”

Yellow blazing was one I knew well from watching vlogs. It was when a so-called thru-hiker skipped parts of the trail by getting rides, thus following the yellow lines of the road. I was a firm believer in HYOH (Hike Your Own Hike) but I did have a problem with someone calling themselves a thru-hiker when they were skipping parts of the trail with no intention to come back and hike them.

“Anyway,” Starlight said. “I owe you guys big time. What are you drinking? Next round is on me.”

“Trail Mate Golden Ale for me,” HT said. “You can get big bro a refill on his coke.”

“Not a drinker?” she asked me.

“Not anymore.” She didn’t inquire further and made a round trip to the bar coming back with the requested items and a Springer Fever Pilsner draft for herself. I didn’t ask to sniff it. We had just met.

“Cheers,” she said and we all three clicked our glasses. Mine was quite lame with a plastic cup but it was what it was.

She looked at me for second. “I just now realized that you are Brat Boy!”

I laughed. “Where were you several days ago when dear old Dad here named me? Brat Boy would have been so much better!”

HT gave me a look. He didn’t punch me in front of company, but I knew he wanted to.

“Speaking of trail names…” and we were off, having the required conversation among thru-hikers meeting for the first time. Hooker Tush went first, reciting the story he had promised to write up and laminate but as of yet, had not. She laughed quite a bit, of course, at that story. She went next. Starlight was a trail name given to her when she did a section hike of the PCT last year. She had earned it from constantly commenting on the magnificent starry nights she loved to see in the wide open spaces that made up a lot of that trail. When it came to explaining mine, I kinda balked and stuttered trying to find the right explanation. I had been giving other hikers a line about a unit I was attached to in the Army nicknamed Suicide Squad when I didn’t feel like getting into it, but I really didn’t want to come right out and lie to Starlight.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. He says he’s going to jump off Katahdin when he finishes his thru-hike. He’s just bullshitting everybody, though,” HT spurted out.

“Now, why would you do that?” she asked me with a smile.

I just gave her a wink, which was something I had been want to do when further inquiry was pursued. She didn’t press any harder and let the matter drop. We all finished our drinks and I said, “Well, thanks for the drink.”

“And the show,” HT chimed in.

We both stood up. “No way you are getting rid of me!” Starlight exclaimed. “You guys are my knights in shinning armor and I will pink blaze your asses all around town if I have to. Please?”

“Twist our arms,” I said. “Come on.”

We three spent the rest of the day walking around Franklin and mostly avoiding going back to the hostel for Starlight’s sake. At one point she was pretty sure she had a Panther sighting and we all ducked into a little antique shop to avoid him. The shop ended up having some really cool stuff in it and Starlight actually bought a carved wooden figurine of, what else but a shooting star. There was no way she could carry it in her pack all the way to Maine, so we showed her where the post office was so she could mail it home. That is when we found out she wasn’t going to Maine. She was only doing a LASH to Harper’s Ferry, WV. She was planning on finishing the other half of the trail the following year.

We had dinner that night at a place called Cafe Rel, a French/American cuisine place. It came highly recommended by hikers and it did not disappoint. After stuffing ourselves there we walked back to the hostel and stealthily entered, on the lookout for the prowl of the Panther. We didn’t see him and Starlight bid us a good night as she practically ran to the private room she was sharing with three other female hikers. HT and I hit our bunks. As I laid there waiting to fall asleep, I realized that I hadn’t thought about my liver all day. Sleep took me with a big smile on my face.

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