When it's the Kaiser Chiefs, I get to the point of planning my own death much more quickly than this. (I might even stave it off for another week, if that copy of Black Tie White Noise I ordered would show up.)
This ties into that discussion of whether there are many new writers in SFF, doesn't it?
(Charlie Stross said a while back that turning forty was made easier by the constant assurances that he was one of the Hot Young Things of genre. I am here to note? It works on 35 too.)
treize64 on The Chains That You Refuse.
Polymath At Large reviews The Chains That You Refuse. Speaking of Charlie (Hi, Charlie!) sie also hits Accelerando and Joe Haldeman's A Separate War and Other Stories.
mr_bad_example (the name alone is enough to get me humming; I must be in an easily influenced brainspace, neurochemically speaking. send in the deprogrammers) comments briefly on Blood & Iron.
aimeempayne reviews "Sounding" for Tangent Online.
Archery last night was a pleasure. netcurmudgeon, ashacat, taichigeek and I went to the video dart range, which is a range where you can shoot pretend moving animals with blunted arrow tips. (I do not actually hunt, but the critter walking across the screen is a nice, novel challenge.)
Also, you never know when being able to pick off a moving target with a silent projectile at twenty yards will come in handy.
Assuming it was rutting season, the wind was low, and the woods were full of extremely stupid white-tails, I might not starve if civilization ended. ashacat? Will have cornered the venison concession.
I have mostly gotten my to-do list out of the way. Going to gym in a minute, must remember to BUY STICKY RICE, put gas in truck. Then come home and not stir from the house until I've finished sartorias' book. Which is good; I'm just flighty.
The pop star elf story is cooking along in my head. So, scalzi, um, gonna do another guest edit somewhere looking for hackneyed cliches? ;-)
Of course, it's not one of the things I need to be doing. Which, prioritywise right now, are:
But short stories are really the province of the muse. They come when they will, and all must bow before them. They are not amenable to the kind of grinding willpower that gets a novel writ.
Right. Pants, food, gasoline, exercise, rice.
Come home and work.
Possibly dust under the computer; it's incredibly gross down there.
P.S: confidential to everybody who hasn't done it yet this week: Back up your data today.
*yes, that is the Jonathan Richman song. and yes, I did almost die in convulsions when I realized it.