Deep Sky Anchor

Editing my grandfather’s account of my grandmother dying from Alzheimer’s is a heart-breaking process.

Oh my gosh! Diablo 3! New Beach Boys album! THIS CAN’T BE POSSIBLE. What’s next??? A new Star Trek series????

Diablo, Beach Boys, and Star Trek are pretty much how I survived high school.

“Zippity-zap, I wish this dandelion would turn into a tree just like that!” Elaine points at a very tall tree. “Look it turned into a tree!” she declares dancing around. A few moments later, “It turned into a dandelion again.” Four-year-old magic is strong.

I’ve added a chapter break!  That counts as writing, right?

After many hours touring Eugene elementary schools, we’ve decided that our default neighborhood school is actually the one we like best. Yay!

SteamPunk: a silly genre of fiction that requires me to study whether the invention of electric light predates the discovery of aluminum.

(Spoiler: Yes. But its use wasn’t widespread yet.)

I spent the afternoon watching Star Trek romances with a half-faerie and am invited to a feast in Rapunzel’s Tower tomorrow. Life is good.

Reading fiction that consistently mixes up past and present tense feels like being trapped inside a blender crossed with a time machine.

There is something both deeply wrong and deeply right about Star Trek novels: they both are and are not Star Trek.

Elaine informed me a few minutes ago that Kung Fu Panda was coming to visit. Just now, she introduced me to him — and he looks an awful lot like my dog Quinn.

Elaine and Kung Fu Panda are now salsa dancing.