Dang it. James Howe is not Lemony Snickett. Daniel Handler is Lemony Snickett. Aaaaauugh. That theory blown. On the other hand, reading an interview with him, his other, adult books seem very interesting. The interview contains swearing, I note for your edification. Daniel Handler seems like the kind of author that small-minded parents everywhere should […]

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Hm. I could have sworn I posted something since last time. Eh. Ray isn’t feeling well. One minute, I followed her into the kitchen to put her jammies on for an early bedtime, the next, I’m saving said jammies from a pool of vomit. Ironically, this morning the cat had barfed all over those jammies

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Class. Every once in a while, I think up hypothetical English classes for college that I wish I’d had. My favorite has been “How not to write,” in which the class dissects great works of literature that they’ve always hated. Or Danielle Steele, I’m not sure yet. Maybe a smattering of classics and popular fiction

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Thinking about writing. I just do that. I don’t know. Probably nobody’s going to come up with the ideas that I have. I realised yesterday that what I like most about people’s writing–including the things I consider masterpieces–is the writer’s style. Incidentally, the people who like what I write say they like the style. I

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Words back on the review. So Lee finally walked me through the first eight pages or so of the beginning of my novel. He doesn’t like it yet. The current problem in his opinion: not enough information. When you’re building a world, you can’t afford to…not build your world. Also, he said something about the

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It must just be that time of life. Warning: Self-pity disguised as…well, pretty much just not disguised. (Tangent: Today, the new manager of the department walked up to me and asked me how I was feeling. Thinking somehow he’d known I’ve had a gawdawful sinus cold and sounded like I was going to die yesterday

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Bunnicula. Do you remember the Bunnicula books? A friend of mine at work lent me the first three books in the new series, written by Howie (not the original dog, but a wirehaired daschund puppy). They have nothing to do with Bunnicula. Instead, they have everything to do with…writing. Very cool. You get the story

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La vache! La vache! I don’t know why, but this floats through my head: When I took my semester of Spanish in Chamberlain, SoDak, of which I remember a great deal more than I remember my two years of German in Flandreau, I tried to make a joke about my mother’s age. This is an

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Plot. One of the bestest parts of taking a day off of writing in order to plot is that you can delight yourself with the details. The first time I forged through the section currently in front of me, the people at the farmhouse were mindless zombies. Now, I’ve met them, I know where they

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