The Bridge

When my girls were little I wrote a story called "The Bridge," which was a riff on the fable, "The Three Billygoats Gruff." After I read it to them, my middle daughter, Tyne, made the above sculpture of me, holding the manuscript in one hand and our dog, Pico, by the leash in the other. It is one of my prized possessions.

I plan to revisit The Bridge one day soon, and publish it as a Little White Cabin book. I figure a quarter-century is plenty of time to ferment in the old noggin-cask. Oughta be of good vintage by now.

I will, however, have to buy an external 3.5-inch floppy drive, as those were simpler times.