Yesterday, I wrote 1,049 words on that story that still is not titled "Pilgrims and Thunder Lizards." I'd have written more, but the headache became a force to be reckoned with. It's my sinuses. They're better today, so far.
Some very good RP late last night (well, for me, early in the morning) with stsisyphus in The Secret World.
I'm coming to the end of the five-volume Bloom County: The Complete Collection. Towards the end, you can feel Breathed's frustration with censorious and indifferent newspapers, the greed of comics syndicates, and the exhaustion that comes from doing a daily strip for a decade. I've specially appreciated his occasional sidebar notations for this or that strip. They generally break down into three categories:
1) Sadly, you couldn't get away with this in a newspaper comic strip today.
2) If you have to ask X, you're too young to be reading this. Go ask your parents. As in, "Wait. Who was Gary Hart?"
3) This is why people ask me if I was on mushrooms when I wrote Bloom County.
Of course, there are still the Outland and Opus volumes to come, but I can't help feeling a bit melancholy, watching the strip draw to a close. Back in the eighties, it got me through many a day. It was a sort of constant companion all through college.
Now, gotta go write.
Thinking of the Tropics,