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Editing. Something that pisses me off about my English education is that none of the teachers in my creative writing courses had any intention to teach me how to edit. Maybe I had bad teachers. Maybe the policy was “Workshop…and see magic may happen!” Maybe the instructors assumed that all we needed to know about

Stuff.. I don’t think I’m going to get the edit done tonight. Mr. Joe Woods was over; Mr. Joe Woods introduced us to Papa Murphy’s Chicaco-style ‘za. I nearly made the cashier cry. “Do you want some bread sticks?” she asked. After all, we were only getting a family-sized pie, and this is Joe and

Current reads. I’m in the middle of a reread of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas; I got a cool used copy at a local bookstore named Poor Richard’s. Wonderful place. Leatherbound, gold leaf, little ribbon bound into the…uh…binding. I just finished the third issue of “Black Gate.” I have yet to be impressed with

X-rays. We got a call on Thursday that Ray’s x-rays (for asymmetrical gluteal folds // lopsided butt crack) needed to be retaken. I got to take her in this time on Friday, after work. She cried when the doctor held her still; they asked me if I could possily be pregnant before they put the

The only reason I call this a journal instead of a blog is that the rhythm for blog is all off. The only reason I occiasionally write in smaller-case is that I started writing on a spare typewriter in high school, and I didn’t have any correction tape. Goal of the day: edit “Feather.” Finish

More religion: Religious faith seems to be a kind of affection. One of the more thought-provoking (read that with shades of “annoying”) people I ever talked to on the subject of religion was D— the Iowan. When I met him, he had been recently divorced: his wife had announced to him, out of the blue,

Posted some pictures of Rachael eating cereal.

I am…Stinky Rhinobiscuit! This is a site that will give you your designated new name according to the rules of Professor Poopypants, the villain of a children’s book, Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants. (I haven’t read the books yet.) I have to admit that I take a buttload of online tests.

The apartments directly above us have always contained an interesting collection of sounds. For example, there is the coincedental pisser. I swear he (or she) leaps up to take a leak every time he (or she) hears the click as I lower the ring. He (or she) is an irregular flusher. Next there is the

I got more in-depth comments from Lee yesterday for Feather. Good ones. From what I understand, he felt the story was well-written for its purpose, but that the purpose itself needed to be questioned. There were lots of things that I was trying make the reader think, but I don’t yet have much that I’m