A friend and I were talking of the anthology story and all things Red/Blue today, and when she commented how frequently she and I and other 'liberals' are accused of being outside the 'mainstream' or out of touch with 'middle America', I said what I always say: I am middle America. I live in a dwarf city in a predominately black neighborhood seven miles from a university and seven miles from the nearest farm. We got all kinds here. And she said, somewhat hushed, "You know, we're behind enemy lines." I just winked, so as not to blow our cover.
Beyond that I continue to wait. And be sick. The frustration of constant sickness gets to me. My family is as sick of me as I am of being sick right now and all I can say is I don't like being a powder keg, either. In happier news, I'm going to see my great friends Amy and Conan at the end of April. They're getting married in May, and it couldn't happen to two better people. We're going to go the last Star Wars convention and maybe even dress up. Lightsabers for sure.
And I finally slogged through the difficult chapter of the new book. Not that it's done by any means, but it kicked my butt. I do have a much clearer sense of the book now and where it's going than I did before, to the point where I had a weird dream last night where I saw the film of my book at a theater and wished afterwards I could somehow perserve the magic of the ending - the visual veracity of it - in words. This has always been my problem, though. I can't draw, I can't create music the way I want to, so I try to through words, and I'm just not good enough.
But next I get to have some fun with polar ice caps and monsters lurking in a Milton version of Kong Island. Goodness.