Dear Viola (February 21, 2026)
Dear Viola,
A fairly uneventful week here in Stephen King country, which is just fine and dandy in this time of Everything Being Horribly on Fire. Nothing has burned down around here that Iām aware of, but then again I do keep my head down these days, and generally only learn of ghastly deeds through osmosis. Leaving the news business definitely put an end to my having an interest in keeping up to date on things of national and global importance.
Speaking of the news business, I have finally started work on the book idea Iāve had for a few years now about my time in the trenches. Iām sure you remember me talking about this before, about how I always thought it was ridiculous how much people liked shows and books about the TV news business, but really only ever saw it from the focus on reporters and anchors and the people appearing on television, instead of the people who put the shows on the air. Iām fictionalizing it slightly of course, to put a narrative thread throughout, and to make it more than a series of ridiculous and funny vignettes. Itās got a Douglas Adams bent to it so far, although at this point itās still in the early stages of development. You really canāt tell a story about the production side of the production department without it being ridiculous and funny. Itās definitely a mess, for certain.
The weather has been pleasant this week, overall. Warmer than last week, inching slightly above freezing during the daylight hours, and back into the teens or below during the night. Standard Maine weather, from what Iāve experienced. Winter isnāt over yet, obviously, as we had a little storm blow through last night that dropped a good seven inches across the property between dark and dawn. I spent an hour out with the snowblower before heading in to work this morning. The snow was fluffy at least, so it wasnāt particularly taxing to clear the way. Itāll need a little touching up later to really make the grade, but nobody will be complaining about it in the meantime.
Been doing a little photography, but nothing that I can show you yet, because itās on actual film instead of digital, and I havenāt finished off my roll yet for developing. Hunter bought me a neat little plastic camera for Christmas that splits each frame into two separate images (so you end up with, for example, 72 photos instead of 36 for a roll), so itās taking me a while to get through it. Itās wonderfully low-tech and old school, without any focus ring or way to adjust f-stops or aperture. It does have a flash at least. It gives me all sorts of nostalgic vibes and Iām looking forward to seeing what the images look like when they are printed.
Also doing a little digital art, trying to get some practice in with oil brushes and experimenting with negative spaces with bold and bright elements in the image. A little film noir, a little Rembrandt. I like that Iām doing this just for my own pleasure, and donāt know if any of it will surface in a public-facing way or not. Takes most of the pressure off to just be able to say that I am fiddling about instead of trying to create Art-with-a-capital-A. We shall see how that progresses.
I am craving a sandwich this afternoon, Viola. Something messy and splashed with oil and on crunchy bread. Something like those old ones from my youth from the deli I used to hit up on the way home from school, Roma. Ideally I would be able to hop into my time machine and go grab a large turkey sandwich and a root beer, have a seat at a table, and eat and read a book for an hour or so. What does it say about me that I would use a time machine just to go have lunch, and not to buy Apple stock or kill Hitler or something like that? I like food. Sue me.
This week, I have been spending time listening to a different album every day, in its entirety. Iāve found a website called 1001albumsgenerator.com that gives you a different record every day from a curated list of āgreatā albums, and you listen. The next day, you get another. Itās another subjective list of course, but I canāt argue with most of the choices Iāve gotten so far. Who doesnāt think that Joy Divisionās Unknown Pleasures is a classic? At any rate, Iām in for the penny and the pound on this website, so Iāll keep on going down the rabbit hole. Todayās album is by Pere Ubu, and given how apparently influential they were to bands like Joy Division (and REM, and Pixies, and Peter Murphy), itās surprising to me that Iāve somehow not heard any of their material. I like to think that I have at least dipped my toe into enough music over the years that Iād have gotten to them (and I do know the name, at least), but theyāve slipped through the cracks somehow. Too much music, not enough time. Still, Iāll be correcting that later tonight.
What else to recap on this Saturday morning in February in Maine? The chickens are being strangely productive in their egg laying for a cold month, I feel, but I wonāt tell them to stop. Iām making a friend of Riviās mysterious Z, who isnāt as weird as Rivi makes her out to be (is anyone as weird as Rivi makes them out to be? Perhaps her vampire friend, but thatās a story for another letter), and is also a very good writer. I have had a discussion with someone else about disposing of bodies via hogs, which wasā¦ informative? Intriguing? Unsettling?
Come visit when the snow is gone, Viola. I promise there wonāt be any hogs waiting for you, other than my own piggy self.
Oink oink.
āSebastian
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