Herding cows in an old Jaguar

Squint to see the cow. Getting used to my new life in rural South Carolina meant deploying all types of counter-measures including, more than once, rounding up the neighbor’s wayward cows. More than once, when Pineapple Hill’s groovy farm Jeep wouldn’t crank, I went after them in a Jaguar sedan clearly not meant for off road work. It was fun. It would have been even funner if I’d had the Bitch Gobbler described in Blue Rubber Pool.

Bad things happened, an entire run of them that shut me down, caused me to withdraw from everything except my inner self.

One afternoon, in a hammock, I took a photo of myself. Just my legs. But there was no one to send it to. No one to understand.

I needed a sidekick so I sketched an armadillo because they’re crusty on the outside but not within. I made him my butler. Crusoe’s manservant Friday.

We began interacting—my hammock photo speaking to that critter, that critter speaking back.There’s a folder of cartoons somewhere. For now there’s just this one. (LINK)

Eventually after that I began writing novels.

I’m still a hermit, marooned you might say, but leaving my shell more and more—my inner self seeking its freedom through writing.