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: A stranger light comes on slowly
- 2: A kidnapper wouldn't jump into a cold sea
- 3: I might fail math if you don't move your shoulder
- 4: One boundary makes another
- 5: I swear only this city knows
- 6: It's maybe five minutes onscreen
- 7: From the morning past the evening to the end of the light
- 8: I bought Blue Velvet on a DVD
- 9: A lonesome highway is a pretty good subject
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