This is a collection of 69 of the best of Carl Wyant‘s columns from the mid-1990s through to 2000.
You’ll be wondering why I’m publishing it.
Because I’m the fool who spent countless hours arguing with him by snail-mail during the late 1990s. Choosing the columns, ordering them, proof-reading, ‘editing’, hammering out the first draft, and finally, producing a digital version in 2016.
He was the fool who spent the stinking-hot summer of 2000-2001 climbing Morningside hill to my castle to finish it. Maybe he knew his time was nigh.
In a case of better late than never, I’ve been working on the kindle digital edition for the last week or four. A print edition should be available shortly.
My blurb reads, in part;
Part outlandish fiction, part memoir, part comment, here is Carl at his inventive best.
Since this roving life doesn’t include a pet, I’ve taken to borrowing one.
The loveable wee mutt above is Pedro, the house dog, sniffing and surfing and fetching his way up and down Moana Sands beach.
After a few games of indoor soccer, I realised he was bursting at the seams with excess energy.
I took him for a couple of trial morning walks, him straining at the end of the tether, and leaving his signature around the neighbourhood.
After a couple of days of that, I risked unleashing him on the beach. Straight for the water he went, and never mind the other dogs, or their hind ends. Next he suggested some games of fetch with the beach pebbles.
I saw him that, and raised him a piece of driftwood, and it’s been game on ever since.
Most mornings, a low whistle or a rattle of his tether will see him come tumbling down the stairs all a-quiver.
He’s a smart, but aggressive wee guy. Maybe it’s his element, as well as mine, but at the beach he’s much less prone to bite things.