shad

I'm in this weird creative lull, like the waves of the first book and the next book are on both sides, and I'm just bobbing around in the middle. Or something. I've got most of a short story written, but it won't get done for a few days. It's not even a story, honestly. More of a character sketch. I had some ideas, and I wanted to get them down on paper. Get the characters talking to each other and moving around and whatever. So I'm not sure how it will read. I want to have it done by next wednesday, so I can take it to the writer's group and have them murmur at it.

Also, it's getting to be spring. I hate spring. I'm maybe one of three people on the planet who feels this way, but when the first warm days start rolling in and everyone else is happily doffing coats and rolling down car windows, I hit a deep blue funk. I just hate the implication of warm weather. Warm weather means yard work, it means being dragged to garden shops and spending hundreds of dollars on things that are only pretty when they're almost dead. It means hours and hours and hours outside, digging and planting and mowing and pruning and spraying. It means getting into arguments with my wife because I can't pretend to enjoy this shit.

I just can't stand it anymore. Fucking weather.