Sean Beaudoin

Enough excellent writing to fill a large tube sock

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Cabin Fever

So I just spent three days in a tiny cabin in Northern California working on the latest draft of Sour White. It was cold and I burned a fire the entire time, writing and getting up every hour or so to do push ups and put more logs in the fireplace and pretty much marathoned all the way through with the help of my trusty Ipod on shuffle, as it flipped non-stop through its 80gbs worth of songs. It swung from Mahler to Buffalo Tom and back. Pavement to Coltrane. Slayer to Joseph Spence. It's funny how speedmetal cutting through the last notes Thelonius Monk can really fuel your gas tank and inspire you to pound out another thousand words about a character named Destruktor-Bot and his sidekick Manny Solo, Boy Mentor. Also, I bought nine pounds of Italian meatballs at the grocery store the first morning and ate them like bocce balls every four hours. There is power in pork.
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“In the next four hours I had eight customers, rented three zombie videos, and answered two questions about where I wasn’t going to college.”

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