I'm really too tired for this entry, but I don't want to miss another night. Between only having slept about seven hours in two nights and The Cough, well, I'm exhausted ( Read more... )

It snowed until about 5 p.m., I think. And there's talk of more on Monday and Tuesday, maybe another winter storm. So, today we have to make it to the market, which means slogging through the ice and snow and slush all the way to the East Side. Currently, it's 31˚F. The sun is blindingly bright off all the snow ( Read more... )

I seem to be developing a new loathing for "weekends" (id est, Friday night-Sunday), and I begin to guess why ( Read more... )

I'm glad Lindsay Lohan's community service gig at the LA County Morgue is working out so well, because it doesn't seem like jail's willing to keep her even five hours. But, really, here's my thing: who gives a shit? Everywhere I go on the goddamn internet this morning, there's Lindsay Lohan skulking about, and it's not like I felt so fucking great ( Read more... )

Compared with the day before, yesterday was quiet and uneventful. This is a very good thing.

We completed the edits on Blood Oranges, and I sent the book to my agent. It took me longer to get around to sending her the book after I'd finished it (~65 days) than was needed the write the damned thing (45 days). The manuscript still isn't perfect. ( Read more... )

A blessed Samhain, and a Happy Hallowe'en ( Read more... )

Yes, weird, wet weather. And here we all are, in the aftermath of this somewhat unusual nor'easter. We're lucky; we didn't lose power, though a lot of Rhode Island did (~20,000 as of 7 ayem this morning; power is being restored). Though, honestly, I don't think I've found it as disturbing as have many who've lived here a long time, who seem to ( Read more... )

Someone's comment to this morning's entry, and my response to it, made me track down this quote again:

What is the common touch that it is supposed to be so goddamned desirable? The common touch is usually an inept, stupid, clumsy, unintelligent touch. It is only the uncommon touch that amounts to a damn. (John Steinbeck, 1949)

Certain thoughts have been very much on my mind of late, and this evening I came across the following passage, which sums it all up much better than I ever could have done:

To be a writer implies a kind of promise that one will do the best he can without reference to external pressures of any kind. In the beginning this is easier because only the ( Read more... )

This quote, of which I was instantly very fond:

I do hate feeling the hot breath down my neck. There are two distinct crafts, writing and writing for someone. The second requires a kind of second sight with which I do not seem to be gifted. In writing you put down an idea or a story and then see whether anyone likes it, but in writing for someone ( Read more... )