Whenever My Brother the Writer gets to the point of actual published-ness, I think
I can promise hypothetical readers that it will not be lacking in creativity. It
might have other flaws, it might be longwinded (will be, if he doesn't have a good
editor), but it will be creative.
(Nota bene: If it's his first-
written book that gets published, it might be necessary to note that it was
written and I read the first draft before Gaiman published American
Gods.)
So....MBtW has had issues with birthday and holiday
presents for the last several years. There was a period where he talked about
buying them but never actually sent any or had a series of mysterious shipping
problems, followed by one where they might arrive six months later. In the last
few years he's been slowly moving up to almost on time. This time around, he
apparently ordered my gift in plenty of time, was then told it would arrive last
Friday or yesterday, then had a delivery date of yesterday confirmed. Yesterday, I
came home to an empty front step. After we went to bed (which we do ridiculously
early due to the workout schedule) but while I was still awake, the doorbell rang.
I went to get it, both in hopes the boy had come through after all and because if
it was a package I didn't want to leave it out all night and there it
was.
A big package, about four feet tall.
He had
warned me it "might seem a little weird, but he thought if I could find the time I
would enjoy it". MBtW is the sort who, when he says something might seem weird,
ought to be taken seriously, so I was prepared.
Did you know that
they sell "Learn to Play the Mandolin" kits??? Me neither. There's nothing like
ending your day on a completely surreal note.
In his defense, I
should point out that I already own a classical guitar, a baby Martin (tiny
traveling classical guitar), two penny whistles, a harmonica, and a bodhran. I'm
not much good on any of them. I can just about pick out a tune on the whistles,
can play a not-terrible accompaniment on the harmonica (as long as it's in the
right key, so can an untrained monkey), and can read tablature and play
recognizable tunes on the guitar -- though I can't play anything new beyond the
fakebook level unless it's written out in tab. I can't play the bodhran because
whenever I try it scares the cats. So figuring that I'd like picking up a new
instrument isn't an entirely outlandish thought.
I really don't have
the time for it, but it's not like mandolins spoil; if I don't play it this year
there's always next year. Anyway, it's a pretty thing. Maybe I'll get a stand for
it stand it and the guitar up in my library. Actually playing them is probably
more likely if they're out and convenient.
On the way to work this
morning I put in a B-52s CD. When you have that high level of surrealness going
you can't just quit cold turkey, you have to taper off.
Come to
think of it, maybe I should have dug out some bluegrass instead. And it is
appropriate that I was just reading a Manly Wade Wellman collection -- my guitar
is strung with silver and most of John's old-timey songs will work on mandolin
also. I wonder if they sell silver strings for it?