Today was cold and grey and unspringlike; I didn't go out, I made myself dinner, I read a couple of books and a couple of scripts and worked on nothing except this story which I am still trying not to break. I don't seem to have the brain to work on anything else. I remember being able to multitask around fiction, but I suspect that was when I did not go years between completing stories. Both of the cats have been affectionate and inconvenient. I am telling myself it is not bad to have days like this.
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Active Entries
- 1: Does everybody know he's a ghost?
- 2: Broken like the earth or a name for a first love or a lesson in shame
- 3: Life, a series of memorials and signals
- 4: I want to show you all the versions of myself
- 5: If you don't want the death of the party after I'm gone, sing one for me
- 6: Once you've gone, remains the question, baby
- 7: That gossip's eye will look too soon
- 8: I left my mind behind in 2015
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