I outlined the sections I want to cover from here to the end of the book, except for events that happen in real time, like going to hear the Lewis Family, going to booksALIVE 2006!, the Joe Bell Memorial Pick-In/Children of the Dirt Reunion, and the Everglades Bluegrass Festival.

I saw at the Dread Clampitt web page that the trailer on the beach is going under the wrecker's ball.

I thought I'd take the morning off and drive over to photograph that.

Eat a seafood platter at the Seagrove Village Market, buy a hardback book at Sun Dog Books, in Seaside.

"Picking on the back porch,/writing in the living room."

I stayed at the trailer on the beach, when Balder was still playing with Net Ban'd, before Kyle moved in.

I went to a pot luck supper at Fermentations, which was like a cordon bleu cook-off.

I went on two round-robin side-trips and wrote A POSTCARD FROM SEASIDE.

Fuller Warren considered two postcards from Blountstown a draft.

I'll soon be at the end of my fellowship year. I wrote 18 books on spec. Nobody asked me to write any of them.

I think I wrote a murder mystery about living in that trailer. The merry widower. Teenage pussy throwing itself at me.

Was that a fantasy? My imagination? Or did I write it?

When I get to the site I shoot a roll of film, like a crime scene investigator taking too many pictures.

And it's a digital camera, so it wasn't a roll.

I shot the fire pit with the oyster shells around it, the scrub oak tree with the broken branch, the John Deer bulldozer, the open spot among the palmettos and trees, in the sand, in the shade, where the trailer stood.

A mail box, a building permit, and a For Sale sign.

I see that my next book is going to be called UNTITLED: A LIFE UNDER ERASURE (SOUS RATURE).

Possibly I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE, or I SPIT ON YOUR UNMARKED GRAVE.