The state of the state of the state.
Between now, and 365 (and one-quarter) days from now, six chapters will have been done (God willing, and the creek don’t rise).
Well maybe God was willing but the creek she rose. Here it is more than a week into the penultimate month and I’ve managed but three dam’ chapters. I keep shipping water like I have been and four won’t be done by Auld Lang time.
I’ve written a paragraph? Of the next number? —But I’m not here to talk about that again. Mostly I think to acknowledge to the City of the City that no things did not go as was hoped, as was promised, that there is better to be done and perhaps next year to do it in. And to reaffirm with a swift kick to my own posterior the importance of sitting down and getting the words out.
No! Sleep! Till Christmas!
You’re a ghost
La la la, la la la la la la
I don’t know; maybe I need to use this end of things more. I’m wary of cluttering this space; there is a balance to be maintained, and while it is perhaps not so delicate as I sometimes fear still one ought not try to fix what probably isn’t broken and all that. The story is what it is and if I wanted to send a message I’d send a message and all that but still we live in the era where the author as such is a commodity as well and King Maw is never satisfied: Content! it bellows. More content! —But I don’t want to start talking more. Not here at least. I mean there’s nothing quite so rank as the smell of an author’s sweat as they try to make damn sure the reader got it. For whatever value of it.
I’m not sure why I suddenly switched subjects like that. There was a plan for this entry, wasn’t there? I don’t know. I just work here.
You’re a ghost
La la la, la la la la la la
Like she says: as soon as you say it out loud they will leave you. Not that I’m really worried about that, about my imaginary toads being gently deflated by tales told out of school. I think maybe I’m just aiming another swift kick: there’s other work to be done which might or might not just help the work hereabouts, and I’ve been dithering on that, too.
Oh but there I go again gesturing vaguely and smiling cryptically and getting up and walking away in a huff at the first pointed question leaving you to—what?
I did mention the Twitter thing somewhere along the way, didn’t I? If you were wondering about the sorts of things I mutter to myself when I’m distracted. Or maybe you weren’t? I don’t know.
I’m the bishop and I’ve come
To claim you with my iron drum
La la la, la la la
La la la la
Ah, forget it, Jake. It’s November.
—posted 5125 days ago
