Good morning, Readers!
A space invader. This is what my bruise looks like currently. More or less. Image courtesy of destructoid.com. Apparently Space Invaders or something similar is headed to Steam. Click the link to go to the article.
So, the bruise on my butt from the fall on Friday is starting to look like a pixelated alien from the old school game Space Invaders. It amused me this morning. It amused me less when I went for my run. It still hurts.
I had another really weird dream last night. This time, we were in a zombie apocalypse. It was a small band of survivors, none of whom I knew, except for a kung fu brother of mine. I like the guy. He's a nice person, really hilarious, and down to earth. In this dream, though, he was the villain.
Anyway, we're a group of six moving through a ruined landscape that looked like my mind had pulled it right from The Last of Us. We find a young woman, roughly my age, near a destroyed shed in the backyard of a collapsing house. She's curled over herself and crying. With a little TLC, she joins our less-than-merry band of survivors.
Then, while we're looting a house in search of supplies, my kung fu brother snaps, and goes into a weird entitled misogynist rage against our newest member (he fancied her, you see, and she wasn't interested). I intervened, and for it, I got shot twice. Once in the lung and once in the stomach. I died.
Then my alarm went off.
And that was my dream.
So, there we go. That's what happened in my head early this morning.
Writing is going relatively well. I didn't write as much as I wanted to yesterday, but I still wrote, and that's a good step. I will have to change the last fifty or so words, since I took it to a place that makes to story stick, but that's nothing, really.
The trick to writing a book is just to keep plugging away at it. Sometimes it feels like you're shifting a pile of sand with a pair of tweezers, but each word down is one more step closer to completion.
Off I go, marching towards the finish line.
Ciao!
I had another really weird dream last night. This time, we were in a zombie apocalypse. It was a small band of survivors, none of whom I knew, except for a kung fu brother of mine. I like the guy. He's a nice person, really hilarious, and down to earth. In this dream, though, he was the villain.
Anyway, we're a group of six moving through a ruined landscape that looked like my mind had pulled it right from The Last of Us. We find a young woman, roughly my age, near a destroyed shed in the backyard of a collapsing house. She's curled over herself and crying. With a little TLC, she joins our less-than-merry band of survivors.
Then, while we're looting a house in search of supplies, my kung fu brother snaps, and goes into a weird entitled misogynist rage against our newest member (he fancied her, you see, and she wasn't interested). I intervened, and for it, I got shot twice. Once in the lung and once in the stomach. I died.
Then my alarm went off.
And that was my dream.
So, there we go. That's what happened in my head early this morning.
Writing is going relatively well. I didn't write as much as I wanted to yesterday, but I still wrote, and that's a good step. I will have to change the last fifty or so words, since I took it to a place that makes to story stick, but that's nothing, really.
The trick to writing a book is just to keep plugging away at it. Sometimes it feels like you're shifting a pile of sand with a pair of tweezers, but each word down is one more step closer to completion.
Off I go, marching towards the finish line.
Ciao!
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