Not really satisfied with this, but that's what I get for writing ten minutes before 5 on a Friday with other people in my office.

Well you know that reality. It's just so fragile.

I really liked "broke fabric of reality. Yes, again." Hee hee.

The tradeoff for horrid nightmares is, sometimes, you get a really delicious one.

Funny you should mention Robert E. Howard's Conan books, Shawn. I learned who that was just a few weekends ago, at a radio show by the Violet Crown Radio Players. Our friend Mark adapted one of Howard's Sailor Costigan stories into a radio play and then played the starring role.

It was an awesome show, by the way, made all the more awesome by the musical stylings of Jon's cubemate, a member of the Puddin' Hill Mob.

I like people, they're the ones who can't stand (they're the ones who can't stand). I see smoke signals coming from them. They say we are out of furniture.
-They Might Be Giants Own That Song
It's Called "Stand On Your Own Head"
And Now It might be stuck in yours.

Stand on your own head for a change, gimme some skin to call my own. Stand on your own head.

We used to have parking spaces here. Then it snowed. And rained on top of that. So now we just have vague suggestions of spaces encased in ice. No handicapped parking space in front of my building, although you can still see the edge of it where they dug us a path. (Of course, I don't think anyone in a wheelchair lives in my building anyway. Or could, given the stairs.) It could be worse, though. I could be a student trying to park on campus. To hear people talk, they've switched from tickets to death by dismemberment.

Ach. And what a heart-rending tail of woe it is.

No, thank you. I'll stick to Texas, where the spaces that are big enough to accommodate "typical" Texas vehicles will easily hold two of mine. (Ever seen an SUV in a "compact only" space? It's laughable. 'Course, it's usually a compact SUV. Everything's relative.)

*shrug* Sometimes I write stories. Sometimes stories tell me what to type.

We'd talked about it a little while ago, and I am walkin' my talk. Here's my review of my menstrual cup.

(The code is a smoogey mess, but you can't see the code, now, can you.)

It's all about setting small, attainable goals. Saying something like, "I ought to do more writing this week" is nice, but it never leads to much of anything. Saying, "I'm going to go into this room and write for an hour each day and see what happens" usually leads to me doing just that.

Four or five times a week, I spend an hour trying to write. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, sometimes I can't even get a decent sentence down on the page. But I don't let myself do anything else. You'd be surprised with what you can accomplish in a very short amount of time. Sometimes it's aggravating, sometimes exhilirating, but it's a process. Doing a set amount, every day (or thereabouts) is a good way to start.

Heck, even somewhere in the neighborhood of, let's say, ten minutes a day is a good start. Small, attainable goals.

Actually, I now see that Neil Gaiman has just said a lot of what I was trying to say, only better.

Yay, Fred! Go!

I have to run to a meeting, but Friday's was such a cool topic, that I had to go back and catch up.

It was my topic on my own birfday? Hee. Shucks. Well, I was off celebrating with my honey in a remote getaway with no WiFi access.