My old college buddy James had really toned down over the last couple years. He’d gotten himself sober, married a girl named Marcie, and started on a weirdly responsible career ladder.\u00a0 I hadn\u2019t seen much of him since he announced Marcie\u2019s pregnancy. His life entered one of those phases I equate to the turning of a great, invisible wheel. Like in Conan! The Wheel of Life. Except there\u2019s no cool montage to accompany these turns and, in comparison to Conan\u2019s destiny, each turn is actually depressingly mundane.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was at home licking my relationship wounds and drinking far too much gin when James surprised me by hammering on the door and screaming homosexual themed obscenities. By the time I\u2019d navigated the multitude of deadbolts and ripped the door open, all of my neighbors were standing in their doorways with horrified expressions.<\/p>\n
He smiled, swished his hand, took my chin in his other hand, and shouted, \u201cThere\u2019s my little cumdrop! How\u2019s that fine ass of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck you.\u201d<\/p>\n
James turned to my next door neighbor and was about to say something, but I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him inside, slamming the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeriously, James. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned. \u201cOh, whatever. Give these shut-ins something to think about. Now they can bitch you on their Facebook pages. How the worm turns!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey don\u2019t even know who I am. If they talk to me, all they talk about is my ex. And she\u2019s been gone for months!\u201d<\/p>\n
He slid into my narrow kitchen and popped open the freezer, grabbing the New Amsterdam. He glanced at the label, then turned to me. \u201cStepping down in the world?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mix. It\u2019s good stuff for mixing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh. Frugal alcoholism. The true sign that America has ground to a hideous halt.\u201d<\/p>\n
He poured half a pint glass of gin, then topped it off with a splash of tonic. Then he made me one, handed it to me shakily, and whispered, \u201cTo the couch, fair Nacho!\u201d<\/p>\n
Humid, hot. It was August in DC. My living room carpet felt like I\u2019d sprayed it down with something, and the window unit air conditioners labored heavily against the oppressive heat that seemed to creep in from my neighbor\u2019s homes, above, below, and all around. The gin and tonic was suddenly very welcome.<\/p>\n
James took the couch and, breathing against the heat, I settled into the rocker across from him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour old place had central air, didn\u2019t it?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt did. Electric bills I do not miss, chapter 18.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed. \u201cThat\u2019s right. I remember now. You\u2019d always wander around with candles that you made from wax scraps you liberated from dumpsters and shit! That apartment was the House of Usher, man. \u2018No one\u2019s been in the second bedroom for years\u2026\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, anyway,\u201d I cleared my throat, \u201cto what do I owe this surprise visit?\u201d<\/p>\n
James touched his nose. \u201cWe\u2019ll get to that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh-oh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe serials on Great Society. This project of yours. What is it? A million words every day or something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTen to twelve thousand words every month.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd all the serials are really gay, by the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged and raised his hands defensively, \u201cNo worries. Opinions are like horses. If you had one for every\u2026 Wait.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not about the stories, really.\u201d I explained, \u201cIt\u2019s trying to refine the discipline. To get in the habit of writing that much each month and sticking to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd how long has it been?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, September will be a year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo\u2026240,000 words in the last year. Right? Is my math right? I haven\u2019t had any form of education or used my brain since 1997, so you have to help me here.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a long drink of gin.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnyway,\u201d James continued, \u201cyou\u2019ve done it. You\u2019ve written however many mediocre 12,000 word vomitings and you\u2019ve achieved your goal. You can do it. I read the intro to this Mithras one saying how you haven\u2019t finished it because you\u2019re a pussy or something, but, still. Big change. Your girlfriend abandoned you and left you to die in the pine barrens.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we not talk about that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTalking\u2019s healthy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo? With whom, then?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe a therapist.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared blankly at me. \u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shrugged. \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnyway,\u201d he said slowly, \u201clet\u2019s pretend that exchange didn\u2019t just happen and move on. Move on to a time when Nacho is not\u2026a motherfucking pussy! What the fuck! Therapist! My god. You\u2019re the most grounded person I know. You\u2019ve survived an avalanche of evil and here we sit in your posh apartment made for a wealthy spinster recluse and you\u2019re CEO of snooty fuck literary fuck. You\u2019re fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, with no girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re also the last person who needs a girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head. \u201cUh-uh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSeriously. You\u2019re a nightmare. Your brain is spinning wildly in fifth gear day and night. When you\u2019re drunk, when you\u2019re high, when you\u2019re in the hospital, and after you\u2019ve just tumbled down 30 steps. You need some sort of Xanax-Ritalin hybrid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all, man. And I\u2019m good with women.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned. \u201cOkay. Fine. Tell me about a woman that you actually do get along with\u2026 And who lives closer than 400 miles, and isn\u2019t medicated to the fucking gills. Like, if you squeeze her, Haloperidol tablets pour out of her ass and children dance in the orange rain. Oh, and, also, you need to see her more than once every ten years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, hey, there\u2019s \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cWives of friends don\u2019t count.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drank my gin.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight. See?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you come here tonight to talk me into suicide or something?\u201d<\/p>\n
James leaned forward, \u201cI\u2019m here tonight to issue a challenge.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAround the world in 80 days using transportation local to the specific countries we cross over and never flying or using highways or high speed trains?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUm, no.\u201d James studied me for a moment, \u201cYou\u2019re very serious about that, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe someday. My challenge today is a writing challenge.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held up a finger, then went to the kitchen and refreshed our gin. When I came back, he waited for me to take another long drink before he leaned forward again.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy baby is due \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cMarcie\u2019s baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOur baby, goddamnit! Our baby is due on December 15th. This Sunday, August 15th, I\u2019m going to start writing a novel.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited for more. When we sat silently staring at each other for nearly a minute, I finally said, \u201cWoo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWoo, indeed. Woo, indeed. I\u2019m gonna race the baby. 260 pages by December 15th.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you, Nacho, are going to race me. And the baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s be fair. Let\u2019s say Marcie can\u2019t keep a bun in the oven and the little tyke pops out early. So here\u2019s the challenge: We each write 200 pages, manuscript form, by December 1st. This has to be an actual cohesive novel that you would be comfortable sending to a publisher or agent. It can\u2019t be \u2018All work and no play makes Nacho a dull boy.\u2019 Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, that\u2019s my plan shot down.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned. \u201cSo 200 by December 1st. Then we just keep writing till the baby drops. See where we are then.\u201d<\/p>\n
I rocked for a while, thinking about the commitment, and how I\u2019d weave writing a novel around five jobs.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s more,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t post it. You and I can share chapters, if you some perverse need to do so, but no GS shit. You focus on the writing, not on the GS audience.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to update the page.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen do progress report shit. But don\u2019t use my fucking name. Or any personal details. I hate it when you write about me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I can;t mention Marcie and her baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I\u2019m competing against you and a baby and I can\u2019t talk about it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2026maybe make shit up. Change names. Turn me into someone boring. Like your Mormon friend or something. And make Marcie a large black man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith a baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo we start Sunday?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAugust 15th to December 15th.\u201d he stood up. \u201cAnd, with that, exeunt James!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? You\u2019re leaving? Also exeunt means more than one person is leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExeunt fucking me and\u2026fuck you, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou came all the way over here just to issue this insane challenge?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hunched his shoulders in mock apology, \u201cHey, I wanted to get out of the house.\u201d He headed to the door and put a hand on the knob. \u201cAlso, it\u2019s my week for Nacho Suicide Watch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not suicidal.\u201d<\/p>\n
His smile was sad, genuine. \u201cWe\u2019re all worried about you. I know that\u2019s retarded. I\u2019m sorry. If any of us were in your shoes today\u2026 Well, I don\u2019t think any of us would be. Maybe we\u2019re all just\u2026waiting for the break. Do you feel it coming sometimes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded. \u201cLife is pain, Princess.\u201d<\/p>\n
I allowed a smile, \u201cAnyone who says differently is selling something.\u201d<\/p>\n
That seemed to satisfy him. He opened the door, turned back and said, \u201cGet writing,\u201d and then he was gone.<\/p>\n
And I still had plenty of gin\u2026but no words at that moment.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My old college buddy James had really toned down over the last couple years. He’d gotten himself sober, married a girl named Marcie, and started on a weirdly responsible career ladder.\u00a0 I hadn\u2019t seen much of him since he announced …<\/p>\n