If I had to have one part of my body painlessly on fire for the rest of my life, but it would set other things on fire, I at first thought that my left pinky finger might be all right. But then I realized that would get in the way of typing. So I thought about my left elbow instead.
Thyme Cube. The world of spices will never be the same.
Via metaquotes: bees.
Via metaquotes: The Creative Process, or: How to write a novel. So true.
So God and the Devil are actually friendly rivals playing a game of chess. Then one of the Knights figures this out. She's pissed.
I tried to tell Heather, with a straight face, that she would think better if I hit her with a bag of salt-water taffy. She didn't buy it. I can't keep a straight face while uttering absurdities.
The body-part-on-fire thing would be an absurd gimmick for some story.
Work2 was deserted when I got there. There was a hard drive crash on a main machine. Deader than dead. They've got good backups. I don't worry. I went home. Darkside and I were both tired, but we giggled a lot, and made horrible jokes at each other. Some keep circling back to each other. Pop goes the weasel. ...or the mail server.
Not entirely all the way through The Amber Spyglass yet, but I might be tomorrow. Or Tuesday. I can't finish it tonight, because I need sleep.
I'm going to try to be better about writing down fantastic ideas when I plot them. They don't do anyone any good just staying in my head.
Rest in peace, Robert Jordan.