Eh. Better Than Shark Tickling.
My weekly post is up at the Midnight Hour. It’s all about the doldrums, or what happens when you’ve finished a book and you’re afraid you can’t write another one. Oh, and shark tickling.
Yes, my dearest Readers, it’s 4AM and I’m up. The story won’t let me sleep. I’ve got a detective in trouble, a hunter everyone thinks is dead, a Were on vacation, and a hellbreed seductress named Shenandoah to deal with.
I ask you, who will take a hellbreed named Shenandoah seriously? Why did the Muse choose to inflict this on me? And to add insult to injury, at two o’ clock in the morning, Her Majesty the Muse suddenly decides it’s time to fold laundry (she finds the order of a stack of folded towels soothing) and watch a movie. Constantine, to be specific. Why? Why inflict this on me? What on earth did I do? Between Shenandoah, the laundry, and Keanu Reeves smirking his way through another stab to the heart of decent graphic novels, I get the feeling Her Ladyship is peeved. She shouldn’t be, the brioche dough is still in the fridge and apparently doing fine. I’ve given her all the trinket a Muse could ask for, fed her well, and tickled her in all the right spots. And THIS is what she gives me.
Pfaugh. It’s enough to make me swear off writing.
No, you’re right, I don’t mean that. I’d be more likely to swear off breathing.
Anyway, even if she doesn’t let me sleep I’m going to go lay down. This is ridiculous.
G’nite, all. Have a wonderful weekend.
Watch out for those sharks.
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