Tis and tat.

Started to write a "serious" story yesterday.

Fuck that.  I'm depressed already.  Serious fiction is depressing.

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I'm in-between stories.  Waiting for a sign as to which story to tackle next.  Trying to enjoy the vacation.

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Linda and I watched both Hobbit movies last night.  7 hours of Hobbit.

Why does Peter Jackson have to overdo everything?  When he sticks to the story, he's great. 

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Saw a documentary on the Pig Explosion in the USA.  My Tuskers stories are more apropos than I knew.  Coming up with a species that is smarter, stronger, faster and bigger than any others isn't so outrageous after all.  Heh.

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Haven't heard back from my publisher.  I shouldn't be impatient. 

Besides, if he doesn't take it, I'll just put it out myself.  No harm.

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My reading has just died off.  I'm too conscious of all the tricks.  (I'm also conscious of the tricks in TV and movies...)  I've gotten really observant of the details.

I've just got to stop doing that and enjoy the books.

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Outlander isn't really doing it for me.  But it's entertaining enough to keep watching.  I'm assuming the book is "better."

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Linda and I are going to the movies.  She wants to see The Giver, I want to see Sin City, so we'll probably see something else...