taennyn: a girl sitting in front of a field of fallen leaves (Organic System)
Definitely time to trim the Beast's claws--he decided to freestyle rockclimb the back of my computer chair this morning to get at my braid (which was only about half done at the time) and he bounced off the back of my left shoulder.

Milk and sneakers should not be mixed.

The universe has decreed that my office become a chocolate lover's haven, as obviously my mild dislike for the stuff is A Foolish Lie.

Chocolate chip cookies make a decent breakfast.

My brain is stuck in listmaking setting again, so attempting to work on fic-prompts is Not Going Well.

I could do without the blindfolded metaphorical live bee throwing approach to storytelling. Is it too much to ask the cast to stick to one time period long enough for me to get a good look at it?

I still want to know who killed monsieur Looney-tunes.

And how More died, and when. For that matter, her lover's identity would be nice--the second Ian did not spring full-blown from her forehead ( . . owbrain. Literally.), after all.

Why is it always the Really Complex stories that pwn one as a new-ish writer?

Irina is not a Firebird. Though if it's a ship she might have one.

Tricksters, rebellion, family and trust. 'bout everything in my skull fits that paradigm to one extent or another, *tells self* one is not actually telling the same story over and over and over again, M would take a baseball bat to one's head.

I either need more caffeine or I need to stop drinking my tea, my ability to stay on one topic is disintegrating rapidly.

April 2017

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