Dave's Fiction Warehouse

Leader of the pack I 've been reading Stephen King’s latest novel, Doctor Sleep . It’s about what happens when the paranormal kid in The Shining grows up and discovers that all the supernatural horror of his childhood didn’t burn up with the creepy Overlook Hotel. It’s still out there, in a somewhat different guise, old wine in new bottles. The new bottles in this case are a group of outwardly middle-aged RV owners who pilot their land yachts aimlessly back and forth across America, backing up traffic wherever they go and pissing off considerate drivers like me. But these folks are not tourists. They call themselves the True Knot. They’re kind of like vampires, but they don’t feed on blood. What they really need is “steam,” their euphemism for the paranormal energy produced in certain rare individuals. They’re more or less mortal — they eat and sleep and have sex — but they can live hundreds of years as long as they keep a supply of steam on hand. That involves scouring the country...

H ow many times this year have you had a $100 bill in your possession? For me, maybe once. They just don’t come around like they used to. So it’s with a certain detachment that I read about Uncle Sam minting a snazzy new C-note that’s harder to counterfeit. I suppose it matters in North Korea, where counterfeiting ranks right behind starvation as the national pastime, but the rest of us here in the lower 99 percent of Americans probably won’t be seeing many of the new bills. The most telling thing about the story is, as usual, the thousands of crusty comments that have glommed onto it like barnacles. America’s education system may rank near the bottom in developed nations, but all Americans are experts on fiscal policy. The noted economists on Yahoo’s news site weigh in thusly (small errors intact) on the new $100 bill: “… it will end up in Saudi Arabia, China, Isreal, or any number of nations we waste our money on.” “… fodder only for drug dealers and congressmen, plus the occasional ...

W here was I? Oh yeah: Bitching about the beggars of Missoula. Seems like a long time ago. But then, I guess it was. More than two months now. For me, it’s a personal best for not blogging. Not sure what’s happened to my occasional urge to write here. I think it has something to do with running out of ideas. Every time I consider a topic, I eventually remember that I wrote something just like it earlier. Kind of like this post. No excuse really, considering all the amazing stuff that’s happened since July. For instance … well, just a whole lot of things. What does it say about me that only things that spring immediately to mind are a few more mass shootings and Miley Cyrus tragically losing control of her tongue? Whoa. That tongue thing: It’s a silent disease that afflicts too many nymphets. Won’t you please help? We can’t do anything about mass shootings, but surely the nation that put men on the moon can sort out Miley’s tongue. Not much else to report. About all I’ve been doing is w...