Another week, another none post, not sure what I’m doing right now……. Cause Something is happening and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones???

For reasons totally within my control I have decided not to post a new chapter this week, the current chapter will continue next week as rescheduled.

I have poured my heart and soul into this novel and dedicated hours of my time and all I ask is to be read. As the hit counter claims this website only gets on average 10 hits a day, taking into account the number of spam comments I receive that could quickly disappear into 3 or 4.

I have posted almost 16 chapters which makes this novelog 4 or 5 months old, the question I ask myself is this: Is it worth it? Should I keep on doing this?

If you have read this far then you are a dedicated reader and I appreciate that, what I want from you is a comment, let me know if you have read this blog novel and how far you have gotten, let me know, with pure honesty (even negativity if necessary or true) what you think of the novel and the writing style. If I am a terrible writer then I should know, I don’t want to waste my life on a dream that has no potential.

I guess my point is this; is this novelog doing poorly due to a lack of advertising or poor quality. Please be absolutely honest with me, I really need to know.

Thanks;

Sandy Copeland

After the favourites hall there was an exhibit called ‘Lines.’ Every piece consisted of at least one line, how original. The art was nothing spectacular, but such is life, especially when it comes to something as subjective as art. You can’t make all the people happy all the time. I noticed a collection of gawkers watching something around a corner. As I got closer I realized they were watching a man and woman roll around on the floor. Sometimes in embrace other times like a tire rolling down a hill or back and forth like a bucket filled with water. It was a bizarre dance and I enjoyed it, but what did it have to do with lines?

After viewing the small collection I returned to the coat check and grabbed my box. As I left a sense of fear filled me; what if someone called the police? What if the police wanted to confiscate and arrest me for possession? Then it hit me; I was being stupid again and didn’t have anything illegal on me. I knew a lot about marijuana and had to look into the Vaporizer to know what I had in my hands. Most people wouldn’t have had a clue as to what was in the box. The box was conspicuous as well; there were no cannabis leaves or symbols to suggest its function.

I left the gallery headed east, not knowing where I was, but having a sense of how to get to where I wanted to be. Randomly I came across another art gallery; it was private and free so I walked in to check out what they had to show. The pieces were a lot more modern, likely created by local emerging artists; regardless I liked it more than the stuff I had to pay to see at the other gallery. I was now satisfied with my downtown adventure and felt it was justifiable to leaving if I wanted to. Walking, I eventually came across a subway station and headed underground.

Walking down the street with the large volcanic box in my hands it became quieter as I came closer to the gallery. Opening a door and walking in, almost instantly an employee tells me, “You’re going to have to check your box.” I’d just spent hundreds of dollars and was already giving it away; I wondered, ‘is it safe to leave it here?’ After a few moments I figured the regular patrons wouldn’t know what it was or what it was for. They’d have no reason to steal it.

I handed the man my box and he handed me my coat check number. Buying a ticket, I entered the miniature gallery, 90% was under construction and closed off. Walking down the single hall there was energy in my stride; art gives me great enjoyment. As a child I wasn’t exposed to it; one of my friends was an artist but that was about it. After discovering art I started to appreciate it and even learned a few names so I could throw them into conversation when needed.

The paintings in the hall were voted the favourites of the members of the gallery. The hall had 20 paintings but clever placement and organization made for an interesting exhibit. Who would pay regular price to see this?

Next morning I asked mom, “Can I drive the car to the subway station?” She asked why, I fibbed and she said, “Sure.” It was Sunday so she didn’t need the car anyways. After driving to the station I grabbed the subway and headed downtown. The trip took well over 40 minutes and most of it was above ground so I got to see the sun. As the train passed over the Don Valley, the magnificent view filled my heart with love. I was happy.

By the time I finally got downtown it was noon. I’d originally planned on grabbing lunch but figured I may run out of time so I decided to make my purchase first. As I walked down Queens Street, the trendy shopping area, I approached the Friendly Stranger. The night before I’d checked the internet and found the Vaporizer to be the same price everywhere. The Friendly Stranger was high class and the most popular head shop in town so I decided to make my purchase there.

I walk through the doors and straight to the back of the store where all the smoking devices were located. Asking the first person I found, “Does this store carry the Volcano? And how much does it cost?” The shop keeper quoted the price I expected and I said, “I’ll take one!” Picking it up she scanned it into the computer and said, “That’ll be $800.” After paying she exclaimed, “Enjoy!”

Deciding to check out the art gallery, I was downtown and had lots of time to spare, I walked down Spadina, the epicentre of china town. Passing the shops, the crowded streets were filled with people picking and prodding at exotic fruits and vegetables.

This year I’d be cutting lawns, trimming edges and doing general property maintenance; however most of the day would be spent driving from house to house. It was a monotones cycle; drive, mow, drive, mow, drive, and mow. I quickly developed resentment and found it excruciatingly boring, but wait, I have more to complain about. It was also the summer, so it was incredibly hot and even worse; the two people I worked with were extremely dry. It’s too bad I never thought to smoke a joint while I was working; it would have made the days a hell of a lot more enjoyable, I wasn’t driving after all. Come to think of it, it would have been great. Whoever said drugs and work don’t mix must not have had a boring job.

One day while driving in heavy traffic the driver, my supervisor, closed his eyes for a moment and took his foot off the break. Our half-ton truck rolled forward and rear ended the Cavalier in front of us. Incidentally, the truck was spotless while the car was crushed to half its size, leaving its trunk permanently open. I was excited and thought, “This is great! I’ll get to go home early today.” Boy was I wrong, if anything the day would be longer. Not far behind another truck from the fleet came to our resentful rescue. Switching trucks almost instantaneously, we were on the road again headed for that pie in the sky, the next client.

For the most part the days were indistinguishable and are slipping away into faded memories. I was making good money and my bank account grew; plus not having a girlfriend made life a lot cheaper. One night while smoking my pipe I coughed and remembered something I’d read about, called the Volcano Vaporizer. It would be better for my lungs I figured; I’d used a cheap vaporizer before but it hadn’t work very well. The Volcano would be better; it was the best, at that moment I decided to buy it the next day. Being whimsical is great!