Today was a beautiful day. I spent the day in the city, came home, and collapsed. My poor daughter screamed and screamed, because it was five pm, and we always go to the playground at five pm. And I'm a horrible parent, so I got up and comforted her and took her there. Yes, I'm the type that people blame when they see children acting bratty. "Look at that girl! It must have been because her father took pity on her crying and spent time with her at the playground!" That's fatherhood though, always one step away from creating the next Honey Boo...
I watched "The Brain of Morbius" with Joe while we played Civ V, one of my favorite Doctor Who episodes. There are so many wonderful inconsistencies. For example, if Morbius's brian survived, why couldn't he simply regenerate?
I'm cheating for story #8 and rewriting one I penned for a creative writing class years ago. I suppose it's not really cheating, every word is mine. There's the issue of plot structure. I'm not sure how worried I am. It seems like everyone these days thinks you must follow a series of highs and lows, coming to a giant low, and then overcoming with a happy-ending-high. (Think of almost any children's movie in recent years. Ever wonder why things suddenly go sour just before the big party ending? This is why.) But very few good stories really follow that format. Is this what literature has come to - emulating a Dreamworks animation?
I try not to worry about becoming just another screaming voice in the void, begging people to come read, come buy, come see this blog, come follow me on twitter, just trying to enjoy the creation itself. I keep reminding myself, if you build it, they will come.