Yesterday, I wrote 2,106 words on Black Helicopters and found THE END of this novella. A total of 21,419 words and seventy-two ms. pages. Written in only twelve days, December 4-15. In truth, as with "Our Lady of Tharsis Tholus," it doesn't feel finished. This is one reason I've written so few novellas. Because I pass a certain word count, and there are so many ideas, so many possibilities, all of them feeding off one another, multiplying exponentially, it almost seems easier to go on to forty or fifty thousand and have a short novel than just stop. Anyway, I don't know if Black Helicopters is science fiction or fantasy, but it is most certainly weird fiction. And I'm fairly pleased with it.
We saw the new Fringe last night – "Black Blotter" – and the animation sequence, a deliriously marvelous tribute to Terry Gilliam, served as yet another reminder of the brilliance of the series. All good things must end, yes, and all stories, too. Stories that do not know when to "end" are as unsightly as those that are left unfinished. But I think it's going to be a long time before anything like Fringe comes along again.
We'd Circle, and We'd Circle, and We'd Circle,