I’m supposed to be drawing a get well card for a friend of mine who just had surgery. (Open heart, triple bypass. Haven’t seen him yet, ’cause no coughing on the heart patients, but I hear he looks much better.) It’s going to be a picture of a rat’s ass, because he’s usually saying things about people not giving a rat’s ass. So… well, come on! Someone has to give the man a rat’s ass. And they don’t actually make rat’s ass shaped balloons. I Googled.

I am also supposed to be writing a couple thousand words for NaNoWriMo. I’m a little behind. Not impossibly behind, but didn’t get my head start, well and truly distracted by current events, and not exactly sure where my story is going behind.

Someone I work with–a civilian, people–asked me if I was still writing. (Yeah. Writers quit all the time, don’t we? *smirks*) And if I was working on the same thing I was working on the last time he asked. (Probably four years ago?) And then, he asked me what this one was.

It’s a science fiction novel about a family who are quantum-ly entangled with the victims of Hiroshima.

Don’t you love the look on non-writers’ faces when you say things like that?

I didn’t even get to the part with Dostoyevsky.