Good few days of writing. Strange, Philly is in the grip of something everyone affectionately calls a “noreaster.” That word deserves not to initiate my spellcheck. Grow up Google Chrome! It’s cold and rainy and the trees are all ablush and I am happy and lonely full to bursting. Last night I went out with one of my oldest friends and someone I had never met before and we ended up lost in south Philly trying to come up with witty uses of words ending an “ar.” I felt 18 and it was nice and fleeting with the perfect impermanence of frost on a window. I woke up today and said, “I feel good.” and I worked and built things and came home and wrote a story that has nothing to do with anything and I love it and will never do a thing with it because sometimes you write for yourself.
So write yourself a story. It feels really good.
Isn’t it strange to be lonesome and overjoyed? I miss my old friends. I miss Laura. I’m happy I get to do that.
Science of Fiction