I don’t know why, but lately the key to productivity seems to be a (relatively) gigantic whack of caffeine and Dvorak’s Symphony 7. Also, I am feeling guiltily irritated because a big chunk of the climax of Holly’s book involved some madness in Tianjin, China, that closely resembles the awful thing that just happened there for-real…except I wrote it like 4 months ago. I have sympathy for those touched by the disaster, but will also admit to a self-centered feeling of crumpling up a bunch of virtual pages and chucking them into a metaphorical wire trash basket with a sigh and a, “Well, shit.”
Also: Stranger than Fiction was just a movie. I am not responsible for this.