June 2002

The Friday Nite Game. Whew. I’m not the hostess type, but this was a lot of fun. We had absolutely 0 annoying guests, 0 blowouts, 0 injuries (not even the cat). I didn’t get to play 100% of the time, but when I got to, I had fun. Characters: The Tinfoil Avenger/Black Iron — Phillip […]

Ray Bebe. It’s confirmed. She can clap her hands now. And last night, she played with my hair–and didn’t pull it all the time.

Company cometh. Roland, Sharon, and Philip are in town, over at Matt & Stacy’s. They’ll be over here at 1 p.m. or thereabouts. Joe gets off work at five or five 1/2 and will be here afterwards. I haven’t heard whether Doyce is going to be here for sure or not. Lee spent the night

Conflict. Hm. I shouldn’t be writing about this: that’s my instinctual response. There are some secrets too deep to be told. As a writer, I mean. Because they’re almost like…cheating. The deep secret of the day is conflict. I don’t know how many people are actually reading the Mrs. Kurtz fits, snorts, and sniggers, and

Mrs. Kurtz, On Hold, snort the ninth. The Bethany Gobbledy-dook voice said “Hold please,” and the phone clicked. Once again, the hold button had been missed entirely. “You —–,” the Bethany voice hissed. (Mrs. Kutz held her breath. If only she could hear better!) “What did I tell you?” “The customer is always…right?” Scott’s voice

Musings du Jour. One of the things I’m slowly figuring out as I work on and research the genre for Beauregard is that crime writers like details. My guess is that it gives the detective narrators that little ping! of veracity, the one that says, “This isn’t just a story, it’s a dossier, or a

Zoo Stories, by Alward Edbee. Saturday morning I took Ray to the zoo. When you’re a zoo member, you can go an hour early. In the cool. Before the lassitude settles over everything like a plague of flies. Before the class trips come out. The bad news about early morning zoot trips. The little bunnies

Mrs. Kurtz, fit the eigth. On Hold. The beginning of a scream–the kind of scream that makes people call the cops– She exhaled. As if her breath were a loaded weapon and she wasn’t ready to fire it yet. “Yeah, you might say there’s a problem.” The voice was pretty well disguised. If she hadn’t

Mrs. Kurtz, fit the seventh. “What seems to be the problem?” “The problem seems to be that you’re an ass. My cable modem is broken.” “Broken how?” “How the hell should I know?” “M’am, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the problem is.” “Bullshit. Send a repairman. I’ve wasted enough damn

Review. The Last Hero, by Terry Pratchett. Ill. Josh Kirby. What happens when you get old? What happens when you get old only because the world has changed too much? What happens when all the people that defined your era are dead? But for you, your gang of friends, and one last enemy? You keep