12 October 2005
One of my friends asked me what my dreams are like -- adjectivally, not anecdotally; as a group, not singly -- and I had to say they're very physical, very tactile. Last night's example: I was trying to put together a marimba without an instruction manual of any kind. It was a lovely marimba, and it came so cheap, and the rosewood felt so smooth and lovely in my hands, but it was going to take me forever to get it all in order.
I'm currently reading Alastair Reynolds's Redemption Ark, and I don't have much to say about it. I'm not sure I have much to say about anything, actually. I sold a story yesterday, so that's good. I'm not in a mindset where I'm allowing myself to make new changes to Sampo. I'm still competent to type the established changes, but new ones? No. Too tempting to hack and slash, and there's a time and a place for hacking and slashing, and it's never supposed to be indiscriminate. There's plenty already established that just needs typing. It's still productive, has to be done sometime.
There's a lot of stuff in the "has to be done sometime" category right now. I suppose the up side is that some of it is getting done, so sometimes sometime is now. Oh yay.
And the main page.
Or the last entry.
Or the next one.
Or even send me email.