1200 words or so (and a creepy southern gothic)

Bringing the first long chapter to 2200 words or so. And the novel to about 8000+.

I just finished reading Sweet Dream Baby and I'm really sorry. I found the limit to my Weird rule. It goes: "All other things being equal, a story is better if it is stranger." The limit is "not if it's a Southern Gothic." Not if it makes you feel dirty to read it. Not if the compelling aspect is "it will give me nightmares if I don't finish the damned thing." Not if you want to barf.

Let's see. Incest, murder, underage sex, Southern sherrifs, threatening riversides, miasma, heat, sweat, coca cola, mixed-up years of rock and roll (I suspect if I checked I'd find songs that could not have been played on the radio at the time this is supposed to have taken place), chicken chopping, family secrets, mental hospitals, wartime secrets, way too many erections . . . Ick ick ick.

It's just so -- prurient. There's no reason for any of the things to happen except the author thought it would be nice and creepy. Foo. I never did like horror. ANd that's what this is.

Okay, out of my system. Now. Lemon marmalade, because tomorrow is the family party at which I always give the nice fellow's aunt Kay a bottle of marmalade.

Also, maybe I'll bottle the plum wine. Maybe.