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A Lunatic in motion

Today was a writing group night, and holy moly, what a writing group night!

I showed up; easalle, M, and V were already there. It was just the four of us. I read the latest Necromancer's Prayer snippet, and there was general giggling, even at the rough form. I love social interactions with half the people really clueless. I love it. The audience knows all, of course, and when these people are having their train wreck of a ghastly social interaction, there is rolling in the aisles laughter.

I think I stole the spotlight tonight, because in addition to having way too much material to read, I also had photos on my laptop, photos of truly delicious-looking gentlemen. Mr. Shallow has been declared better-looking than Darkside, much to the amusement of all. (Mr. Shallow's reaction on hearing this verdict? "WOOT!")

easalle brought a truly diabolical writing exercise: write a 26-sentence story. All the sentences begin with a different letter of the alphabet, in alphabetical order. One sentence must be a fragment. One sentence must be a run-on. One sentence must be grammaticaly correct, and contain 100 words. New rule: you must make up one word and use it.

Mine was interesting, and involved a former actress and a stalker.

V got a gift laptop from a friend, but did not know how to go about making sure it was seaworthy, or whatever it is that laptops are. She was considering taking it down to Nerds On Demand, but as she's kind of short on cash, she was wondering if she could barter work for looking over the laptop. I pointed out my specialty, including my background with take-it-apart-and-put-it-together-again, and said that I could certainly give it a look over.

She was delighted.

We went off for dinner. Thalia and I had a lot of fun. I typed up the latest installment of the book, and giggled a lot. I had coffee. The waiter heckled me. (I need to evidently convey said waiter's greetings to Darkside.)

V told me that in exchange for my looking over her laptop, she would let me borrow her (fully insured, half-beat-up) car for the month of November. (She'll be out of town dogsitting.)

I flipped out.

November. National Novel Writing Month. Car. Dude.

*giggle*

Lunatic. Car.

This is going to be interesting.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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