pjthompson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pjthompson) wrote2009-01-13 02:36 pm
pjthompson) wrote2009-01-13 02:36 pm
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Bits and pieces, encountered along the day
From The Onion:
"YOUR HOROSCOPE: Your science-fiction novel will be heralded as a "work of utmost urgency and importance" by critics in a mirror universe this week."
Yep. That about sums up my career.
From Requiem by Graham Joyce:
"The smell of autumn was already in the air, a whiff of damp, green leaves hankering after gold."
From the notebooks, 2004:
She looked forward all week to her Friday night ritual of Turning Off the Alarm. In many ways, it trumped even the other favored ritual of Lying in Bed Noodling on A Saturday Morning. Noodling was not to be sneezed at, but there was something wondrous in the anticipatory thrill that came from shutting off the alarm. At the same time, it was like a great weight had been lifted from her, a sigh of the soul saying, "There, that's done. Another week escaped from."
Probably the darkest ritual of the week was the Sunday night Turning the Alarm Back On. Definitely an occasion for sackcloth and ashes.
From my backbrain:
New words on the WIP! Only 500, but they're the first truly new words I've written since before my mother got sick. It felt really, really good.
"YOUR HOROSCOPE: Your science-fiction novel will be heralded as a "work of utmost urgency and importance" by critics in a mirror universe this week."
Yep. That about sums up my career.
From Requiem by Graham Joyce:
"The smell of autumn was already in the air, a whiff of damp, green leaves hankering after gold."
From the notebooks, 2004:
She looked forward all week to her Friday night ritual of Turning Off the Alarm. In many ways, it trumped even the other favored ritual of Lying in Bed Noodling on A Saturday Morning. Noodling was not to be sneezed at, but there was something wondrous in the anticipatory thrill that came from shutting off the alarm. At the same time, it was like a great weight had been lifted from her, a sigh of the soul saying, "There, that's done. Another week escaped from."
Probably the darkest ritual of the week was the Sunday night Turning the Alarm Back On. Definitely an occasion for sackcloth and ashes.
From my backbrain:
New words on the WIP! Only 500, but they're the first truly new words I've written since before my mother got sick. It felt really, really good.
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Sorry about your mother, but happy for you on the words. Sometimes even finding time to jot down two lines of good conversation can make you feel better about the whole thing. :)
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