Yes, ladies and gentlmen, a cheerful, happy, one year anniversary to us! w00t!
I wrote a story on the bus today, about a man who goes into a store, "Sewing and Altarations" so that he can have an altaration done, specifically, a Hindu sacrifice of his fatted calf.
It's kinda a tribute to Terry Prachett. I also started a story that's a tribute to Lovecraft, or an insult really, a horror story in the same framework as "The Rats Within the Walls", but not nearly so insipid and drooling. Something where the main character isn't constantly telling you how scary everything is, and instead, leaves you to be scared by merit of his own courage.
Oh, by the way, this proliferation of writing comes from having a black book and reading An Anthology for Writers, edited by Joyce Carol Oates.
THe Fifty-Five didn't show up at the stop today. Bah! Stood in the cold for an extra twenty minutes to catch the 2 and be late to work. Amusingly though, this involved me leaping from the two, and joining a horde of other passengers as we ran across Wolf Road, stopping traffic, to catch the shuttle we all needed to get to work.
Yay for halting rushhour traffic in a mad, desperate, dash.
Yay for one year anniversaries!