"The Angels have the phone box."
Today is David Bowie's Birthday. Why the hell isn't this a national holiday. I guarantee you it's an intergalactic holiday. Also, also, also it's Spooky's mom's birthday!
We're having a shit year for snow here in Providence. Even the blizzard hardly touched us. Everyone around us gets hit hard, we get a dusting. Happened again this morning. Spooky says this is normal, that we had much more snow than usual the last two winters, but I say fuck that shit.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,336 words on Chapter Four of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir.
Also, as my office is becoming a hazardous place to work, I boxed up half a filing cabinet's worth of old story files. I've always kept at least one manila folder for each and every short story and vignette I write, all the way back to 1992. Having now written more than 200 stories...well, you get the picture. The cabinet was full, and files have been piling up almost as fast as the books for which I have no remaining shelf space. So, half of the files are going away to our storage unit, where I'll likely never set eyes on them again. Which is a weird thing to know. But, really, what need will I ever again have to look at the file I kept while writing "Tears Seven Times Salt" in 1994? Also, all my pen-and-paper correspondence from 1993 onwards was transferred to a sturdy container. It's all been crammed into an overstuffed old shoebox since forever.
I will see this office organized.
And I also left the house for the fourth consecutive day. Just the bank and the market, but still. Go me.
Last night, I finished reading David L. Meyer and Richard Arnold Davis' A Sea Without Fish: Life in the Ordovician Sea of the Cincinnati Region (2009). And there was more rp in Insilico. Very, very good rp (thank you Blair and Tracy!). I've been hurting for cyberpunk roleplay recently, having gone a while without. Last night, Molly and Grendel acquired a shiny new droid of their very own. Grendel's up to something, though I'm not yet sure exactly what. Hey, readingthedark, you should come out and play tonight...
And that's it for now. Coffee's getting cold.
We're having a shit year for snow here in Providence. Even the blizzard hardly touched us. Everyone around us gets hit hard, we get a dusting. Happened again this morning. Spooky says this is normal, that we had much more snow than usual the last two winters, but I say fuck that shit.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,336 words on Chapter Four of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir.
Also, as my office is becoming a hazardous place to work, I boxed up half a filing cabinet's worth of old story files. I've always kept at least one manila folder for each and every short story and vignette I write, all the way back to 1992. Having now written more than 200 stories...well, you get the picture. The cabinet was full, and files have been piling up almost as fast as the books for which I have no remaining shelf space. So, half of the files are going away to our storage unit, where I'll likely never set eyes on them again. Which is a weird thing to know. But, really, what need will I ever again have to look at the file I kept while writing "Tears Seven Times Salt" in 1994? Also, all my pen-and-paper correspondence from 1993 onwards was transferred to a sturdy container. It's all been crammed into an overstuffed old shoebox since forever.
I will see this office organized.
And I also left the house for the fourth consecutive day. Just the bank and the market, but still. Go me.
Last night, I finished reading David L. Meyer and Richard Arnold Davis' A Sea Without Fish: Life in the Ordovician Sea of the Cincinnati Region (2009). And there was more rp in Insilico. Very, very good rp (thank you Blair and Tracy!). I've been hurting for cyberpunk roleplay recently, having gone a while without. Last night, Molly and Grendel acquired a shiny new droid of their very own. Grendel's up to something, though I'm not yet sure exactly what. Hey, readingthedark, you should come out and play tonight...
And that's it for now. Coffee's getting cold.