Testicles and the Zing Life

Four days ago I was on my hands and knees in the garden, muttering, “My ring. Where is it? Where is it!” 

I could have been Bilbo out there among the tomatoes. I could have been Gollum—though I’d have to endure a long, worm-filled diet to play that role convincingly. 

I’ve been married thirty-six years to a good woman. You’d think a wedding ring is just a ring. 

But it isn’t. 

Someone memed me Boromir holding up the ring on a chain and saying, “It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing.” 

And I thought, how true! It makes me wonder if Tolkien ever lost his wedding ring. 

For two days I searched the ground where I’d lost it—a long hedge of tomatoes and the sagebrush hill behind where I’d tossed split fruit. For two nights I went to bed feeling the absence on my hand, as if something vital had been taken from me. 

Then, with the help of a Garrett ACE 250 metal detector I rented from a fine establishment in Logan, Utah, I found it. 

It was just lying there in the open in a spot I’d checked half a dozen times. The detector beeped. And there it was. 

My precious. My precious, precious reminder of thirty-six years with my admirable wife and our four wonderful daughters. It feels so good to have it back on my finger. 

How strange that so many memories are wrapped up in so small a thing. It almost demands a new story about a magic ring. In fact, the experience might just influence the ending of ASSASSIN. That’s how writing works sometimes—life drops the ideas right in your tomato patch. 

Speaking of ASSASSIN, it is coming along nicely. Ferran and company just turned a major corner with the help of a spunky kid in the city. And there’s an exciting scene coming up where all heck is about to break loose. 

On another note, many of you have asked about GLORY, the fourth book in the Dark God series. It’s next in the queue. I’ll write that climax as soon as I finish ASSASSIN. I already have an opening, a rough outline, and plenty of notes—dogmen, dreadmen, Glories—the works. It’s coming, and I think the revelation of what’s really happening will surprise you. 

Finally, I’m not dead yet, nor am I the fount of all wisdom, but I can say this: spend time with those you love, laugh with them, go on adventures. Because one day you’ll lose your ring—or some other small token bound up with all of it—and know exactly how precious those memories are. 

Peace out, my fellow dreadmen and fell maidens.