Drummed out 6000 words over the past two days. I told the wife how confused I am that the book I'm writing is what I ended up writing given all the other plots that I had under consideration. The muse makes decisions for you a good part of the time. You should just avoid eye contact and nod and stay on task.
I know I wrote the best line of dialogue today, for the current book, maybe for any of the books so far:
"The President of the United States wants to talk
to you about your bowel movements, motherfucker."
Based on my love for the line, there's no way it will survive the second draft of the manuscript.
Trying to figure out ethical living - with furry little carnivores as companions - is stunning in the complexity it presents. As that Wilco song states: 'it just shouldn't ever have to be this hard'.
Tapping another pop culture item to relate to the seriousness of animal rights, as in trying to figure out ways that allow for living ethically in a modern environment, and so the cats don't go on a hunger strike, and so you can look at yourself in the mirror without feeling the urge to spit - my conclusion- or contention - is that owning pets and feeding them is like Superman in The Quest For Peace deciding to rid the world of all nuclear weapons without there really being a discussion beforehand.
Global politics and global relationships being such complex systems that any slight throwaway gesture might result in havoc, let alone a grand gesture like some dude in Underoos making off with your ICBMs.
I need a chalkboard and plenty of chalk and erasers in order to approach an equation which might not ever be solved.