We saw a little summer, and now cold spring has wrapped itself about us once again. Today, we'll be lucky to see 71˚F (currently a balmy 66˚F), and the skies are overcast. And I know, now, that the next six months are going to be the busiest of my whole writing career (well, thus far, so the busiest in nineteen years). Busy is good. Busy is work. ( Read more... )

Well, fuck. It's almost 2 p.m. (CaST), and somehow the day is slipping past on filthy little cat feet - fuck you, Carl Sandburg, you sentimental twatwaffle. Okay. Definitely didn't mean to begin this entry that way. But, as Longbaugh reminds me, "I think a plan is just a list of things that don't happen ( Read more... )

Some stuff I forgot to say this morning, and some more Dax. Because, like bow ties, she's still cool.

My two favorite photos of Danielle Dax, behind the cut:

( Blast the Human Flower and Onwards (With Screenplay Excerpt!) )

This is one of those rare mornings when I just want to go back to bed. Grab Spooky and go back to bed. Stay in my dreams, and never mind the goddamn wet tile floors and blinding fluorescent lights and missing syringes and legless albino women. Stay in my dreams, anyway. I'm not awake. Not awake, but not asleep. Ah, well ( Read more... )