The problem is, the book stops when Nyx is out of commission. These people can’t slap their asses with both hands without her. Or, rather, there doesn’t appear to be any narrative without her. Once I push past this part, it’s smooth sailing (which is why I skipped ahead and wrote those parts already), but […]
This book doesn’t have enough fight scenes.
Blah blah blah emote emote emote Read More »
Ways our behavior is altered by parasites, starting with the humble grasshopper.
Parasite Induces Host to Suicide Read More »
When I say I’d like sugarfree syrup, it’s not because I’m being an annoying hippie. Please do not give me regular instead and tell me it’s sugarfree. The next time I test my sugar and it comes up, inexplicably, over 200, it’s you I will thank, vociferously. Thank you.
An Open Letter to Baristas Everywhere Read More »
That was a bloody hard-fought thousand words, man. The problem with getting to the end of this book is, I’ve already written all of the big fun scenes, and now my entire word count consists of all the boring but necessary transition scenes and touchups where I’m stringing them all together. It’s like swimming through
10 minutes of swimming sounds really easy when you see it on your training schedule, especially when you’ve done 20 min jogging followed by 20 min biking twice the week before. But whoa boy, seriously. I haven’t done more than the 5 min of lap swimming I did last week since… since… I was about
I cut a bunch yesterday, so this is about another 2k. I fucking hate this book. Must mean it’s almost fucking done.
Stuff I Fucking Hate Read More »
Working out on weekends is new to me. At least, I haven’t done it since Alaska, when I had a lot of time and very long summer days. According to the training schedule, Mondays and Fridays are my off days, so today was 20 minutes on the bike and 20 minutes jogging. It’s easy enough
Cut about six pages of crap that wasn’t working, which pissed me off. Then dithered around writing bits and pieces of personal emails and rants. Those, at least, did not piss me off. Where’s my whiskey?