01 November 2007

Marche Slave, Op. 31

I simply want to point out that in the first 16 minutes of November, I wrote 270 words of fiction.

Some people will understand why this is important; for those who don't, fear not, it may become clear later in the month.

All I can say is that it's better than last year when I wrote 64 words of fiction the entire month.

Naked Mole Rats Dreaming

The animal lay half on its side at the juncture of the four tunnels. Its legs kicked periodically, and its body jerked, consumed by REM sleep. Another naked mole rat appeared from the southern tunnel, and without even pausing, ran over the sleeping rat. The latter didn’t wake.

Nope, I have absolutely no idea where that was going. But it doesn't matter because I ended up writing about 100,000 non-fiction words on such mundane things as DDT, mercury and engineering failures. Or whatever I was working on last November. Ochratoxin, bird flu, prion diseases.

And I'm supposed to put a landslide database together right about now.

Laughs hysterically.

Yeah.

Go listen to some good music: "Marche Slave, Op. 31" by Tchaikovsky.

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