500 words before breakfast


Trying for 5 000 words a day so that I feel justified by my failure. Nah. Actually, I’ve had the first 20 000 words of this book sitting on my hard-drive for over a year now so if I don’t do something with this story I’ll get all pissy with myself.


It’s meandering like a meandering thing right now, although the introduction of a feral cannibal character with Stockholm Syndrome has made life slightly more interesting. And by slightly, I mean it. Eh. there’s no way to fix nothing, but you can always look at a piece of shit lovingly and say “that’s my piece of crap and I’m damn proud of it.”


Or something. No really, I love even my crappy writing. I mean, not in the OH MY GOD THIS DESERVES TO BE PUBLISHED way, but more in the sense that it’s symbolic of me not giving in to the urge to lie in bed all day with a duvet over my head, quietly chanting “if you shower, then you can have a ten minute break, and then if you pack away 5 pieces of clothing you can have a cup of coffee.”


Occasionally The Slave manages to get me to crawl blinking into the sun, and this weekend we went missioning in the mountains around Kalk Bay.

Herewith a picture of The Slave looking like a gothic elf, and The Luminous Hound.


And now that I’ve assured you all that I might exist, I’m off to play ukulele.


I leave you with this thought.


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