I will say that I DID NOT! SHOOT Pig, but you probably already know that. I never even saw Pig. I stopped the car to take a picture of a horse. This sign was all lagniappe.
In other news, I still have a black eye two and a half weeks after sliding on the slick of golfball-sized nuts that have been dropping with impunity from the enormous malevolent hickory tree that dominates our cul de sac. The tree that must have been planted by one of Ruth Rendell’s more troubled characters. Earlier in the summer, I LOVED that tree. It was a Beatrix Potter sort of tree back then, home to a series of adorable frogs living in a crevasse at its base. What a difference a shiner can make.
But here’s the thing: Moon Beach Magic has a knock-down, drag-out fight, and by the third draft I thought I’d nailed the down and dirty pretty well, even though I’ve never been in a fistfight. Once I slammed my face (and knees and shoulder) into the pavement, though, I knew how to describe the fight SO much better.
So I did in draft four.
Write what you know, indeed.