And so, I got two emails recently. One from a writer friend asking how NaNoWriMo is going, and one from another writer friend about a probably inaccessible writing retreat that promised to unleash my creativity. Well. I got news. My creativity is fine. I don’t need a writing retreat. What I need is a baby-sitter and a drink. And possibly someone to unplug the Netflix. Saying that, check out these 30 ways Netflix can improve your writing. And so, I’m conflicted. Not really. I just need to use all the time I don’t sleep. My writing excuses this week involve a bunch of family time and fireworks. It was Bonfire Night on the 5th. And instead of going into the office when Neil left it, we all bundled up and went out. Now, fireworks and my fright reflex have always been an interesting mix. I like fireworks, but they kinda don’t like me. As a kid, on the Fourth of July or at the local carnival or anywhere else that involved fireworks, I would kinda pop along with them. My butt would leave my seat or my ankles would twitch, and by the end I considered it a work out. … Continue reading It Was Nineteen Eighty-Something