A La Recherche De Tweets Perdu

I’m currently working on a Twitter novel: A La Recherche De Tweets Perdu, A Rememberance of Twats Past.

In Search of Lost Tweets recounts, through sensory experience, my privileged but troubled childhood in an age where children were seen and not heard, and even then were only allowed to speak 140 characters at a time.

Please follow me on Twitter, if you have the inclination.

@suddain

Excerpts:


Swann's Way. “I would go to bed early. Sometimes my eyes would close so quickly that I hadn't even time to say ‘Good morning, Henry’”


“… But before I knew it I would wake to the smell of fresh butter, the kind mother used to make me dab before church."


"... 'Wear your butter, always,' she used to say. 'Then you will be too slippery for the priests.' That buttery smell takes me waaaaaaaaaay back."


"The beach, winter, a strange time to go. Mother's strongman boyfriend, Krutz, would hoist me on his shoulders. He smelled of hocks."


"Once I sprained my ankle on a ham. Oh, how I bawled as I clutched that ham. Those were happy times."


"I recall at Easter we'd each get a ham. Not directly, but blindfolded we would search with our jambon de sensibilisation, our 'ham-sense.'"


"It might seem that many of my "recherches" are about ham. This is untrue. As a small boy I loved all God's meats, even the ungodly meats."


"There were bad times, too, like when Mother left me at the cat circus. At night I still hear cats, but that’s normal in a residential area.”


"But though acrid, the cat circus incident reminds me of my own lost cat, Nigel, and it begs me to continue … a la recherche du chats perdu."