Seriously, how could he not?  I don’t think that I’ve written a single creative work this week.  Some blog posts, a few emails.  I paid bills and entertained old friends and my father came to visit.  But My Demonic Demon Novel: A Novel About Those Darn Demonic Demons! (or, you know, whatever I’ll call it) is lying dead in the water.  Oh, I submitted some Tweet stories.  Those were fun.

My submissions count is 22.  22, I kid you not!  I’m struggling.  I want to write things of quality and *gasp* length.  I’m dissatisfied with my casualness toward some of my pieces.  But when I say, “Write better, fool!” my brain rebels and flips me off.  It has been sent to the corner to think about what it has done.

I watched The Secret of Nimh  with my children today.  I remember when I discovered that it wasn’t only a cartoon, but it was a book first!  There was so much magic in that moment.  I had to special order it from the library, and I tore into it like a starving woman.  I looked up The Secret of Nimh today and found out that the Mrs. Brisby (“Frisby” in the book) was Elizabeth Hartman’s last role before she (allegedly) flung herself from a fifth story window.  This saddens me very much.  I’m gong to rent A Patch of Blue and remember her.