I’m finding my new favorite question to be asked is, “What are your thoughts on this?” It’s like a starter pistol for my ego. My views have hardened, too. Not to say I was once a sunshine carebear, but my level of certainty in the foolhardiness of men and the haughtiness of women has risen a great deal.

I met another would-be writer the other day. We discussed his nascent novel. I asked him why he writes; he responded: “I am writing the book I have always wanted to read.”. How egocentric. Okay I’m in.

New Years Goal: participate in National Novel Writing Month. How hard could that shit be? Now accepting plot or character submissions. So far I have sketched out a boy-child capable of awkward moments yet also episodes of genius. Falls in love with a girl of as yet undetermined height, weight, and occupation. Will maturity be a theme? Yes. Will egocentricity? Yes. Will ennui feature as a major plot device? You betcha. Setting likely to be an alternative future set in 2003-era Brooklyn, a sort of a steampunk (look it up, mickey) vision. No magical minority figures. No orphans. Sex: okay, but no use of the word “rod”. Love: okay, so long as no one is happy. I will probably break at least one of these rules. Here we go.

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