We sail tonight for Singapore

The Drowning City

Words today: 718
Words total: 33,770
Reason for stopping: ded
Sustenance: tomato basil soup
Exercise: weights
Mean things: Burned down a warehouse; Zhirin's running around barefoot and I'm sure the ground is littered with sharp things.

Where is my momentum, anyway?

Instead I leave you with a meme.

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If paranormal romances are to be believed, Scotland's population is largely comprised of hot immortal/time-travelling/vampire/werewolf/whatever guys who run around having lots of sex and saving the world. Or something. (They never seem to come in the halduncan variety.)

There needs to be a Highlander's Bad Touch novel written in the style of Irvine Welsh.

Someone write that for me.

She must be mad to go on enduring the unexquiste agony of writing when it all turns out drivel.

"Aconite & Rue"
Words today: 135
Words total: 5098

"Night Mirror" (And I can tell that title doesn't want to stick)
Words today: 332
Words total: 632

So far I have a murdered artist, her exhibit, a mage with a mid-life crisis, and lousy global warming weather. And a lot of David Bowie songs. Someone build me a plot.

And I am suffering from a bad case of unexquisite agony. I have not had a story come out with the right number of heads and limbs since January. (Except for Garden, which was the least a dog's breakfast of the lot.) I think it's time to spend a few days making jewelry or drawing or something.