Courtesy Phone

My brother pointed me to an article about blogging and the NaNoWriMo - which is my feeble excuse to try and write Greenscape. I think I'm doomed though - I always think blogs are a great idea until I have to update them.

Greenscape comes from a lunch table conversation about work and country clubs, and this story about this guy who didn't really work but just sold things to doctors while playing golf. I don't think it was meant to be quite as salicious as the Dean Forrester lifestyle, but sex sells baby.

So when Paige took me to a fancy club dinner we got to talking about it and I thought it was interesting that this guy might not require any real connection with the adult world. The country club could become his bubble, and with the exception of some outside contact to maintain that lifestyle, he'd never have to leave his bubble. It seemed a perfect analogy for someone trying to evade growing up.

But of course, it wouldn't be fun unless that bubble popped. So I'm dragging up a bunch of old plotlines from other short stories and making them the life that Dean didn't live.