Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
You’ve heard the joke about what happens when you play country music backward, I trust.
I am going to watch the Star Wars movies backward.
The Empire returns to democracy. Darth Vader regains his innocence and his limbs, the Death Star is dismantled, and the Jedi order is restored.
This is a writer’s imagination at work. Someone in real life mentions a happy adventure coming up, and you think, “Ah! In fiction, this would be a foreshadowing of DOOM for this unsuspecting character!” And you start counting down their last happy hours.
Wherever I go is the most interesting place in the house. I get up, and all the cats and dogs rush in front of me to see where the action is. Or is going to be, because I’m there.
How did Ben keep a straight face when Luke said “I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father”?
“Well, maybe not JUST like your father, Luke. For REASONS.”
The wind is howling outside. It sounds unhappy.
Let me tell you something, Wind. There’s a REASON we don’t let you inside. You have bad manners. You knock things over and spill drinks. Why can’t you be more like your more congenial cousin, Breeze?
The forecast is predicting spotty rain. I am now expecting it to rain polka dots. Or Dalmatians. Or leopards, or cheetahs. Or all of the above.
I am watching the beginning of City of Angels. The mother is weeping because the hospital is doing such BAD CPR on her dying daughter.
OK, probably not. BUT SHE SHOULD BE.
Ask the little frog why he peeps, and he’ll stare at you and say, “Peep,” which settles the question.
The invention of the cotton gin was highly overrated.
Cotton gin makes a TERRIBLE martini.
I am working on a story called “I, Reboot” about a new robot line which threatens mankind until they get their weekly software update.