(no subject)

Mar 30, 2006 20:07

I hate springtime. Everything's so beautiful I can't stand it, even Bloomfield's vinyl covered row houses, the giant crane hovering above the half demolished skelton of St. Francis's (or is the half built skeleton of whatever it is they're putting up in it's place? I haven't been paying attention.)

Tuesday zingibar came over to look at pornography on my computer (it's a long story, and probably none of your bussiness). We decided to go the Sharp Edge and ran into thedogofsputnik on the way. So we all split a green pizza with olives and roasted red peppers and talked about horror, which may well be my genre, despite the ill informed prejudices I'd harbored about it for years.

Yesterday was Severin's birthday, but I had a writers' meeting and didn't have time to do anything special. One of the members has died. I didn't really know her but from the two meetings after I had joined and before she became too sick to attend I liked her a lot. She was certainly very good at critiqueing. I like the meetings, but the reading of late has been driving me up a wall. We've had two very long novels since I joined, my oppinions of which it would probably be untoward to post in a public forum. I'm still waiting for someone to excite me.

writing, gadding about

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