This land will be home to the misfits of my novel tracked at left: Lost Souls in Paradise. (Working title. Really horrible working title.)
The picture at left gives you a good idea of the country. A stunted tree or two, lots of sky with only a hint of cloud, and a water tower made of stone (not enough wood). Brown grass. Lots of brown. Some years it breaks off and blows away. Some years not.
Buffalo grass in this picture. Tough sod to dig in if you're planting a body in the middle of the night. Tough.
That same stone on the tower was also used for fence posts in this part of the world. Not enough rain for trees.
So, I'm off. I've put a priest with a peculiar type of faith into this mix. In truth, Paradise was never a very catholic town. The Methodists and the Lutherans have the show. The catholic bit works better with me and so the Methodist church at the top of the hill is now a catholic church. Elsie wouldn't be happy; but, these things happen.
SO, mayhem. Yes. Murder ? Yes. Sixteen year-old daughter of a priest? Yes. Neighborhood demon? Yes.
We're good to go. Karen Russell, eat your heart out. I've got a shitland of incest, rape, murder, betrayal, hope, and magical realism,too. Nobody who walked across the plains and stopped on the Paradise Creek was scoring full marks on the psych evaluation.
Oh - Dorothy, if you read this know _Bastard_ spurred me on. These are people I've known and I put them someplace else I knew: Paradise. If I don't cook 'em off in the summer heat, they might kill each other out of spite.
Open the mailbox carefully folks. Someday there might be a snake in there minus his rattles just waiting to get even for cuckolding the mailman.
Off we go.
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