The Never Ending Pool

Amazon


... a murder-mystery. But not just any rock superstar is knocking on heaven's door. The murdered rock legend is none other than Bob Dorian, an enigmatic, obtuse, inscrutable, well, you get the picture...

Suspects? Tons of them. The only problem is they're all characters in Bob's songs.

author's website: http://www.tomgrasty.com/

It sounds Grasty.

Bob Dorian?!

c'mon

this is the sort of thing that could make me go see I'm Not There

clairdelalune wrote:

QUOTE:
this is the sort of thing that could make me go see I'm Not There

precisely!

I hope for a Blonde on Blonde novel! that would be something!

Here is a suggested start to the Blonde on Blonde book.... We could of course just go for an opening paragraph which could be edited constantly until it is right, so please edit or follow (or both) this.

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She; uncertain to the possibilities thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.

great idea! lets go!

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She, uncertain to the possibilities, thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.

Ruthie - the other blonde - was listenin' to the sex and music in the stereo. She was cruisin' in her Cadillac.
Lately, she was dreaming a lot, trying to find her inner healing. All the trouble she was leaving, don't you wanna know it?

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She, uncertain to the possibilities, thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.

Ruthie - the other blonde - was listenin' to the sex and music in the stereo. She was cruisin' in her Cadillac.
Lately, she was dreaming a lot, trying to find her inner healing. All the trouble she was leaving, don't you wanna know it?

Louise momentarily stopped juggling her sharp and bright options. She gazed out the window. In the distance, just this side of the horizon, she could see a hunched-up, bedraggled-looking figure approaching. It was Dorion! "Damn it", she thought, "he would have to show up now, just when everything seemed to be going so well". Behind her shoulder, slightly to the left, Ruthie coughed.

(Please note that anyone may edit the content or add, I am certain that my content could be improved)

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She, uncertain to the possibilities, thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.



Ruthie - the other blonde - was listenin' to the sex and music in the stereo. She was cruisin' in her Cadillac.

Lately, she was dreaming a lot, trying to find her inner healing. All the trouble she was leaving, don't you wanna know it?

Louise momentarily stopped juggling her sharp and bright options. She gazed out the window. In the distance, just this side of the horizon, she could see a hunched-up, bedraggled-looking figure approaching. It was Dorion! "Damn it", she thought, "he would have to show up now, just when everything seemed to be going so well". Behind her shoulder, slightly to the left, Ruthie coughed.

Dorion had been a thing in her life : a thing, well, a person maybe or a person without a soul. But he was free of the conventional hang ups, and he always seemed happy to build her new cupboards,or mend her windows. Dorion was a drunk though, he drank, but he could make love and he could tell a story, like he had the Irish gene in him. She hated him though, always taking her down to the depths of herself, to his level. Ruthie always tried to divert her from Dorian's sick and manic influence : everyone but Louise knew Louise's trouble. That open door to the convertible had to be irresistible.

Louise was irresistible, she was trouble for sure, she was always heading for the bottom, looking around for the other roller. He was not that good at cupboards, kept saying things like you got to have a wall first. But for the love of Lousie, he told her a story that made her drink from the well of come-manic, oh the fluids of loves depths. Bring me the young boogie man, bring him to me, she swayed from side to side, it was as if Louise was on a wooden ship of sorts, or maybe it was the ship of fools, like so many others, it was made of hickory and the winds blew from the west, fill these sails or speed in cigar, it was one or the other and Louise was never sure of the winds.

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She, uncertain to the possibilities, thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.

Ruthie - the other blonde - was listenin' to the sex and music in the stereo. She was cruisin' in her Cadillac.

Lately, she was dreaming a lot, trying to find her inner healing. All the trouble she was leaving, don't you wanna know it?

Louise momentarily stopped juggling her sharp and bright options. She gazed out the window. In the distance, just this side of the horizon, she could see a hunched-up, bedraggled-looking figure approaching. It was Dorion! "Damn it", she thought, "he would have to show up now, just when everything seemed to be going so well". Behind her shoulder, slightly to the left, Ruthie coughed.

Dorion had been a thing in her life : a thing, well, a person maybe or a person without a soul. But he was free of the conventional hang ups, and he always seemed happy to build her new cupboards,or mend her windows. Dorion was a drunk though, he drank, but he could make love and he could tell a story, like he had the Irish gene in him. She hated him though, always taking her down to the depths of herself, to his level. Ruthie always tried to divert her from Dorian's sick and manic influence : everyone but Louise knew Louise's trouble. That open door to the convertible had to be irresistible

Louise was irresistible, she was trouble for sure, she was always heading for the bottom, looking around for the other roller. He was not that good at cupboards, kept saying things like you got to have a wall first. But for the love of Lousie, he told her a story that made her drink from the well of come-manic, oh the fluids of loves depths. Bring me the young boogie man, bring him to me, she swayed from side to side, it was as if Louise was on a wooden ship of sorts, or maybe it was the ship of fools, like so many others, it was made of hickory and the winds blew from the west, fill these sails or speed in cigar, it was one or the other and Louise was never sure of the winds.

The only sure thing right now was that this ship was sailing nowhere fast. Louise - or, as Dorion annoyingly insisted on calling her, 'LouEEZE' - may have been irresistible, but Dorion only had eyes for Ruthie. Or was it, perhaps, Ruthie's Cadillac? Things had never been the same since Ruthie had mysteriously acquired that old rustbucket. Sure, Dorion kept telling her that she brought out the Arthur Rimbaud in him. But what use was that, when all his time was spent ridin' around in Ruthie's automobile, with or without any particular place to go? She heard Dorion's footsteps approaching the door. Behind her shoulder, this time slightly to the right, Ruthie coughed again. That cough was really beginning to irritate Louise. She had to do something, and fast. There was one blonde too many in this picture.

Louise rocked from foot to foot, from heel to toe. She, uncertain to the possibilities, thrown up by the open door; closed her eyes and in the darkness of her quiet soul, juggled her sharp and bright options.



Ruthie - the other blonde - was listenin' to the sex and music in the stereo. She was cruisin' in her Cadillac.



Lately, she was dreaming a lot, trying to find her inner healing. All the trouble she was leaving, don't you wanna know it?



Louise momentarily stopped juggling her sharp and bright options. She gazed out the window. In the distance, just this side of the horizon, she could see a hunched-up, bedraggled-looking figure approaching. It was Dorion! "Damn it", she thought, "he would have to show up now, just when everything seemed to be going so well". Behind her shoulder, slightly to the left, Ruthie coughed.



Dorion had been a thing in her life : a thing, well, a person maybe or a person without a soul. But he was free of the conventional hang ups, and he always seemed happy to build her new cupboards,or mend her windows. Dorion was a drunk though, he drank, but he could make love and he could tell a story, like he had the Irish gene in him. She hated him though, always taking her down to the depths of herself, to his level. Ruthie always tried to divert her from Dorian's sick and manic influence : everyone but Louise knew Louise's trouble. That open door to the convertible had to be irresistible



Louise was irresistible, she was trouble for sure, she was always heading for the bottom, looking around for the other roller. He was not that good at cupboards, kept saying things like you got to have a wall first. But for the love of Lousie, he told her a story that made her drink from the well of come-manic, oh the fluids of loves depths. Bring me the young boogie man, bring him to me, she swayed from side to side, it was as if Louise was on a wooden ship of sorts, or maybe it was the ship of fools, like so many others, it was made of hickory and the winds blew from the west, fill these sails or speed in cigar, it was one or the other and Louise was never sure of the winds.



The only sure thing right now was that this ship was sailing nowhere fast. Louise - or, as Dorion annoyingly insisted on calling her, 'LouEEZE' - may have been irresistible, but Dorion only had eyes for Ruthie. Or was it, perhaps, Ruthie's Cadillac? Things had never been the same since Ruthie had mysteriously acquired that old rustbucket. Sure, Dorion kept telling her that she brought out the Arthur Rimbaud in him. But what use was that, when all his time was spent ridin' around in Ruthie's automobile, with or without any particular place to go? She heard Dorion's footsteps approaching the door. Behind her shoulder, this time slightly to the right, Ruthie coughed again. That cough was really beginning to irritate Louise. She had to do something, and fast. There was one blonde too many in this picture.

Sitting on a stool by the door of the bar, the man they called Hobo watched as Louise, Ruthie and Dorion hugged one another. Hobo could see that there was a tension the actors weren't smiling: he was right Dorion didn't want to see Louise, Louise was getting fed up with Ruthie's condemning cough and Ruthie was aware that Dorion was after something. Hobo wondered what was going on. He had seen these kids fighting, there was always some jealousy playing out and for some reason they loved to air their differences in the street in front of the Snakes and Ladders (members only bar). Hobo fancied Louise, she had an angelic face with large endearing eyes, large playful ears and a mouth that fitted the given proportions well; her mousy hair was charming in it's girl next door way, and Hobo was certain that under the poncho and loose fitting clothes there was a well formed figure. He liked to sit and watch and sometimes he would chat to Louise about stuff, he would tell her the weird talls of the Snakes and Ladders and she would tell him about how she had dropped out of school because she wanted to see the world; thirty years later she had seen the world but she felt that she didn't understand it, "Hobo do you think that if I had stayed in College I would understand better, even if I had seen less".
Hobo would always say, "could be"

Ruby Red wrote:

QUOTE:
Louise - or, as Dorion annoyingly insisted on calling her, 'LouEEZE' -

How else would you pronounce it?

Dear PlainJane,

please edit the content if you think it needs it, what we are looking for is a short but over edited piece, like a wikipedia entry. In other words we want a concise piece that has had an infinite number of corrections.

RubyRed