For the past week, I’ve set my alarm for the vomitously loathsome hour of 5:30 a.m. It’s a part of my biannual attempt to establish good writing habits; this particular iteration is an attempt to assign all of my writing “chores” (like website maintenance, artwork cleanup, blog updates and maybe even parallel Facebook posts) to the hours before my regular work day. They might actually get done this way, and I get to feel accomplished, even if I do nothing else after work.
Of course, observant readers will not that I said I set my alarm at 5:30, not that I get up at that time. It would undoubtedly help if I’d also spent the past week going to bed before midnight. For now, however, I am operating under the assumption that I will eventually exhaust myself into submission. There is nothing like misery to motivate compliance.
Today’s post brought to you by the letter ZZZZ and the number 203—plus a shout-out to my boy, George MacDonald. He ended his 1883 children’s novel with the news that though, yes, his main characters did get married when they grew up, their kingdom ultimately passed over to a wicked man when they died childless. Decades of greed finally caused the capital city to fall in on itself in a roaring crash (“The cries of men and the shrieks of women went up with its dust, and then there was a great silence.”), which became a wilderness and was forgotten from the lips of men.
I want to know who spit in George’s tea.
Oh, and I discovered this fun fact from a Reddit thread the other day, though I haven’t verified it yet:
Crows remember faces and memorize the work habits and other living patterns of people; they know your neighbors better than you do.
I find this more pertinent than I perhaps ought to. Also, I want to write a story about the best friend in a young adult prophesy adventure (you know, where the hero/heroine is the chosen one). I’m going to call it “Buffoons and Traitors” and kill everyone who seems remotely competent, leaving only the losers to not so much save the day as survive and get through it. That, and I want to get around to writing a story about someone really decent, with a normal life, who comes from a nice family. The kind of guy you don’t really pay attention to but you want around.
But I should probably write some of my other ideas first.