And so, my current NaNo effort has turned bleak and predictable. Even if I do say so myself. There is a Plan B, and I like it. Remember when I said I had trouble finishing things? (NaNo is a perfect example. However, moving on.) I am going to write one short story a day until the end of November. And they will all have endings, I tell you. If the word-count of my collective stories reaches 50K, I will consider…
I don’t consider people old until they are at least 100. Having said that, I think I have the circulation of an old lady. While my hands are always warm and sometimes even hot, my feet are blocks of ice that come in two colours: purple and gray. Gray is more of a shade, but never mind. Now, I collect socks. But it’s very rare to see me wearing any of my collection. I will sometimes make exceptions, and wear…
The printer ran out of paper today. I printed out two stories I’ve written in order to conduct an experiment. I asked Sarge to read both, and whichever one he wanted to read more of would become my NaNoWriMo novel this year. He finished both, held one up and said: This one’s bleak as hell. While I think that ‘bleak’ has its place, I don’t want to sit with bleak for a month. Because I’m not feeling it. And so,…
By the time I was 17, I’d had five years of braces, all four wisdom teeth taken out and two root canals, which were the result of my over-zealous orthodontist and his too-tight braces. Anyway. Like lifts, if I were afraid of dentists, I’d be screwed. I’m not afraid of them. Even with all my previous ‘work’, I hadn’t had a regular old lay-off-the sugar-please cavity, until my new dentist found two last month. I know the difference between good…
And so, I switch off the computer and my eyes fall on my favourite chair. Currently piled with duvets and a guitar, it is wedged between a loveseat and a laundry rack. A penguin is perched on the loveseat, propped up by pillows and the last publically visible box in the house. This is half of the office. The half I can conveniently turn my back on while typing. But I miss the chair. It started out as my Grandfather’s…
