I know, I know. It’s early autumn here, which means the grass should be turning brown. But I don’t have Photoshop, and I’m too damn lazy to change it. But this is the beginning of tinkering with the look of this site, which will lead to something big by the time winter rolls around (I hope, I hope, boy howdy, do I hope).
So, after farting around with upgrading WP and adding some plug-ins, I’ve decided to allow comments. You’ll have to register to leave comments; this is to clamp down on the aforementioned spamming bastards. To register, you’ll have to know how to contact me via email. That way, I can send you an invitation code, which will do even more clamping. By registering, you’ll also indemnify, abrogate, blah, blah, blah…
Thanks to this really nifty tool that some really smart friends of mine built, I’m finally getting some stats. Which means I can see some of you. At least, I can see where you’re from. So, Spain and New Zealand? What’s up? O, Canada! And you there, the Dutch spammer from the Chinese ISP? Up yours!
It rained yesterday, and something got screwed up. See, rain in Los Angeles means clean skies, clean air, clean cars. It means renewal. It means the city’s gotten a fresh start.
Instead, we got The Stench. Like someone had just scraped all the gunk out of every dumpster in the county, figured out how to synthesize the odor, and sprayed it everywhere. It didn’t matter where you were, apparently; The Stench was all over. It followed me down the 405 to Gardena, and drifted as far east as Melrose. I don’t know if it was red tide-infested water that got sucked up by the clouds and vomited over the city or something evil in the ground that had the chance to bubble up or what. But, jebus, whoever’s in charge of ordering up our weather, please double-check your invoice before you take the next delivery. I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean to tick off the box next to “Shitstorm.”
The Church of Scientology is opening up a center down the street, around Princeton and Wilshire. Two things about this:
1) I’m a bit surprised there wasn’t one until now. I mean, it’s Santa Monica. There’s enough gullible people and woo-woo attitudes around here for a few of these centers.
2) So help me God, the first time I get personality junk mail from these people, I’m raising hell. Or bringing a psychiatrist to their front door. Whatever.
Maybe in about fifty years, after the Scientology Reformation, where the True Sons of Xenu clash with the Thetan Daughters, all of this will settle down and Scientologists will be like the Mormons: a little weird, but their missionary work brings potable water and literacy to the dispossessed. But I’m still gonna have a hard time trusting any church with a price schedule and release forms.
I’ve been wrestling with two different stories for the past week. They both could be good, except that I’ve been too damn lazy to get up and write. This is why I only have two things sent out to the world instead of the five zillion that Jason, Andrew and the rest have circulating around the world. It makes me weep (Gawd, I’m such a hack), until I wander into work and get slapped in the face with some corporate tomfoolery that reminds me that I am not doing my real job, which is to sit at the damn dining room table, plug my ears into twenty gigs of Afrobeat and write stuff that’ll amuse you and make my high school alumni association shed bitter tears as they try to scrape me off their mailing list before it’s too late…
Anyway. The best thing to do when I’m stuck is, I’ve found, to distract myself until the ol’ head machinery unsticks itself. It’s turned out pretty well, and, yesterday, it hit me again. Just under 1900 words, the shortest thing I’ve written that works as a story, though I’m afraid I’ve probably gone and stuck my foot into yet another beartrap. It may not let me go, and then I’ll have no choice but to keep writing until I’m out of words.
It’s an idea I cribbed from someone at Metafilter, and as soon as the idea’s originator gives me his blessing, I’ll send it scurrying on its way to some reader’s inbox. I just need to figure out the right one…
This is cooler than iced lederhosen. Jason Stoddard, one of my fellow Fictionados, just got hisself published on Sci Fiction, the Sci-Fi Network’s online fiction mag. And the story is one he workshopped with us. Hot damn and congrats!
