Such utter lack of bloggery! I should admit off the bat that this is being written in Pages, not directly in the Blogger dialog box. Why? Because the internet! That seductive whore. She is so irresistible. So enticing. So full of cats.... and Tumblrs dedicated to sexy Englishmen. I cannot control myself!
I got next to nothing done yesterday. I added flair to my wall. That is it. Flair I have been carefully collecting and typing and printing. My NaNo certificates, my Permission to Write Badly. Batman telling me to quit procrastinating! And work on my art! Loki judgmentally suggesting, no, telling me, Honestly...shouldn’t you be writing? The Avengers say the same thing. Art is never finished, it is only abandoned. Stephen King reminds me that we are all the hero in our own movie. M-o-o-n, that spells moon. WP Kinsella says there are, indeed, dark bargains struck, and Sylvia Plath is terrified of this dark thing that sleeps within me. You only fail if you quit writing. You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you. There is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort. Do or do not, there is no try. A Writer is a peculiar organism capable of transforming caffeine into books.
And of course: The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. That’s from Northanger Abbey.
Blog posts are not novels, so I leave you with this very last, written on a note card and immediately above my computer, smack dab in the middle of my 50k certificates, and my Permission to write badly. Stephen King fans will know what it is.
May the prim rise.