Gravity is a problem. Especially if it only exists (or stops existing) if I remember to have it do so.
So, in conclusion, when the Dictator of Gravity position comes up for election, in the best interests of everyone, I will not be running.
An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
Gravity is a problem. Especially if it only exists (or stops existing) if I remember to have it do so.
So, in conclusion, when the Dictator of Gravity position comes up for election, in the best interests of everyone, I will not be running.
Apparently, when I get stuck — as in, make negligible progress for most of a year stuck — on “Otters In Space,” my solution ends up being to stick the main character in a box. Maybe when I’m writing OiS3 and get stuck around the 30,000 word mark, instead of banging my head uselessly against it for a year, I can skip straight to having Kipper hide in a box and keep writing.
Elaine to Quinn, gently holding his previously barking muzzle shut: “Settle down, my vacuum.” Then, she takes him by the collar, and they return to their important work, walking around the house together, “vacuuming.”
I’m suddenly tempted to write “The Little Red Hen” as a piece of space opera starring an auburn avian alien.
I have at least five unfinished short stories, three unfinished novels, and a novella that I should be working on… So, of course, I started “The Auburn Avian Alien.”
Keeping all my stories submitted to markets feels like juggling.
I’ve acquired a robot head. Let the robot construction commence!
Daniel is lecturing Molly on how to get into grad school, using the children’s picture book “Put Me in the Zoo.”
I’m writing a SPACE HOUNDS! / Dog Fort crossover comic.
I love furry cons. Where else will a big black dragon come up to you, take your hand, and pantomime how happy he is to meet you?
Just watching fursuits walk by and writing the next SPACE HOUNDS! at FurCon.
I’m a werewolf wearing a long white dress and black top hat.