It’s been a while since I’ve updated the blog. I seem to be mostly on Facebook these days. I have begun to edit my second book, which will be called A GURU IN THE GUEST ROOM. I am not sure if it will be paperback or an ebook. It is about Swami Z and I and is a combination of humor and wisdom. He is a lot of fun to write.

I went a while without letting him have any screen time, but lately I am writing his character again.

It’s hot in Atlanta in July, so I am staying inside most of the time. An ideal time to do editing work.

Here is a brief excerpt from the upcoming book:

Stuck

“Swami,” I wailed, “I am stuck.” We were sitting in front of the fire kicking around a variety of spiritual topics. I confided that I didn’t know what God wanted me to be doing. “I know there’s some task that I have come in to do—but I can’t figure it out.” Swami looked at his fingernails then up at the ceiling. I know him so well by now that I readied myself for a worthless answer. He was not about to give up any real info. He  never had; why should he start now? Sun was coming in through the window—a weak, watery light that was merciful to the dust on the end tables. You could have written “Swami” in the dust.

“Here it comes,” he said with a certain air of feigned boredom. “I have some gift to share—some calling…’”

“Yeah,” I said blackly. “Is it me or is it getting sarcastic in here?”  Swami stood up and stretched his back. I could hear it creaking. Then he struck his head with his hand and said, “Ah, yes, now I remember! I don’t exist. You invented me and let me think that I was real. I don’t have to listen to your problems.” He went on. “Let me clue you in—you don’t exist either. We are awash in a sea of what some people call samskara. But let’s get this straight. I call it egocentric thinking.” He sat abruptly and tried to look irritated, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.  What had come over him?  Yesterday he was a cuddly orphan, baking his “Onlies.”

“Snap out of it, Swami,” I barked. “And get your feet off the sofa.” (I always resort to being a bully when I can do nothing else.) Swami stood up, brushed off his corduroys and exited stage left. I pulled the curtains and called it a day. That night as we passed each other in the hall, it was all I could do to keep from hugging him. No matter what he did or said, I loved him deeply. He is my bulwark in a sea of uncertainty.  Let no one tell me that he does not exist. He does. I made him up. I oughta know!

*If you would like to see the book in paperback, consider making a donation. They cost considerably more than ebooks to publish. At this point I could use some help with it. Most of my writing online is done for free; books are a labor of love but do cost a bit. I haven’t yet paid for LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT.