Dave's My Rock...

I've been having one of those weeks.

You know the kind I'm talking about - the type of week where everything at work goes wrong - you get screwed out of a promotion, or raise, or trip to China or something, and your boss decides you're a jerkoff...

Everything at home goes wrong - your kid turns colicky at 3 1/2, the lawnguy accidentally trashes half your yard, and your wife decides you're a jerkoff...

Everything in your personal life goes wrong - your friends don't want to hang, your relationships turn sour, and your best friend decides you're a jerkoff...

But my writing partner. Thank God for my writing partner. He was there for me the whole time...

"Hey Charlie, how are you, buddy?"

"Oh, man, Dave... could I use a friend. I'm sleeping on the guest bed, my car got a flat, and I don't have any friends here in Atlanta."

"Huh. Listen... how're your rewrites on the untitled alien-invasion/victorian-drama/existential-comedy/Porky's-remake coming along?"

"What? My life's a shambles, dude."

"Yeah... I know... shame and all that. A little behind then, eh? So you think... what... maybe end of week?"

"I hate my life."

"Friday, then?"

"Where can I get lots and lots of sleeping pills?"

"Okay. Let's make it Saturday."

So thanks to the love and support of my dear pal Dave, I've been making time here and there for edits. A page here. A couple of paragraphs there. I'm not tearing through it, exactly, but I'm making progress.

If nothing else, I'll get it done before I have my stroke or nervous breakdown or heart attack. I wouldn't leave Dave hanging...

Mainly because I don't want him to decide that I'm a jerkoff.

- Charlie