A glorious chaos of stringy possibilities ...

Dear Petunia,
Good news I am slowly creating order from chaos. Yes I know that is an illusion but bear with me for a moment. As you know I am transitioning into the sphere of creative writer or author and some adjustments are to be made. I am finding that this adjustment makes no difference to the dustball chaos of the household but more so to the less dusty confines of my cranium. The breeze has yet to get out of bed this potentially glorious spring morning and I am at work. There. Adjustment made. Keyboard, words, tea - yep all accounted for. I don't think there is enough room on this so-called blog page for my rantings so I have decided to share the chronicles of Suschewalden over at the Long Night Cafe. They will like it over there. Furthermore, due to the apparent ordering of the universe I must have a page that is more writerly in focus - or focused at all. So I've created a new page with webby things on it. You know, Petunia, one of the most glorious things about writing is that you tend to be more than one person at a time.

No one in Suschewalden was more than one person at a time of course. Although the police office was manned by just one person, Officer W.D. Hadrikson, who was also the town's postmaster, out-of-hours librarian, domestic animal control officer, Park Ranger and fireman. The last office was voluntary and he was not the only person in the Suschewalden Voluntary Fire Brigade. This was just as well, since summer was peak fire season and ever since the Suschewalden Tourism and Other Opportunities Promotions Committee or STOOP as they preferred to be called for some reason, started advertising the glories of camping in the magnificent Suschewalden woods, at least once a week tourists set fire to something or themselves. Of course Officer Hadrikson spent most of his time on law enforcement, hunting down overdue library fine offenders and the like. He was one of the few unmarried eligible bachelors in town and reasons for his unattached state ranged from the tragic (a past lost love) to the sinister (he was an ex-Mafia informant living under an alias). His air of mystery was assured when he refrained from sharing his first or middle name, preferring to be called just WD or Dee. Mrs Bowsflint had it on good authority he had been jilted at the alter, or so she said, and she had taken pains to make sure there were always at least two or three attractive single girls in the salon any time he came in for a haircut. Men were always happier when they had someone to worry about in their spare time and she liked people to be happy.