Yesterday, I wrote 1,164 words on "Untitled Psychiatrist #2," which will be appearing in Sirenia Digest #133. And today Agents of Dreamland is released to readers all the world round, and I ought to be glad, and I ought to be excited. But I'm not. This isn't the same world in which the novella was written. It's not the world for which it was written. And I just can't seem to find any enthusiasm in me to celebrate.
I'm having a lot of trouble understanding how I am to be the writer that I am in this world.
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thank you.
I finished Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses for a second time. And I learned that you shouldn't use Murray's pomade unless you want to learn what it's like to try and wash candle wax out of your hair.
Resistance, Peace, and Compassion,