Reanimation?

Ah, my lycanthropic arthropods! Too long have you been left abandoned. Too long have you endured the mundanity of life without my glorious writing. Too long have you been left with no farewell, but merely an entreaty to stab the annoying with corrective writing implements(this entreaty still stands, mind you). Allow me to refresh your very damned souls with my infernal text.


I have a story to tell. There once was a beautiful young girl, with hair like silk and eyes like the moon. Then she went bald. And a centipede laid eggs in her eyes and they were eaten away by the larva. And everyone decided she was a witch.

The end.

I think I'll call my story The Littlest Witch. Best seller material, right?

As It Is

There is a new addition to the sidebar. It lists my current exploits.

Thoughts?


Helpful Hints with Reogan!

Some people are irksome fools. This wouldn't be too much of a problem but for their burning desire to share with you whatever inanity their brain is dredging from the Sea of Stupidity.

Your response?

"I'd love to talk with you, but your conversations are the maddened scrawlings of an elementary/primary schoolgirl/boy, and I feel honor-bound to take a red pen to your very vocal cords to correct your numerous errors."

Then if they say anything, you stab a red pen into their larnyx.

A History

In the beginning there was Reogan.

There were no interwebz.

Reogan left.


In the middle there is Reogan.

There are interwebz.

Reogan writes.


At the end there will be Reogan.

There are Horseman.

Reogan rides.

Huh?

I have to force myself to stop researching people I just met. It's a bit creepy, even for me.

But I can pretend to like the same shows then.


I made a new rule. Minotaurs purr.

Hey, if vampires sparkle, minotaurs purr.


I'm done.

Write

What's the point?

The above is the stupidest question that one can ask in most situations. You may fail to realize it, but Life is comprised mostly of Art, and Art is often its own point. If you disagree, you probably believe in Art for the wrong reasons. Art is not for profit. Art is not for practice. Art is not to kill time. It may serve those functions, but the point is Art.


Go to your local library. Smile widely at the librarians as you enter, and hurry to the adult nonfiction section. Look for 813.54 K5870 and borrow it.

You're welcome.

Explanation

I've a novel to write. Blogs pale in comparison. Deal with it.

Distracting Bees

Bees are either eusocial or a superorganism. Some debate rages around this topic. I refuse to put forth an opinion. However, if they are a superorganism, does that make them asexual? Because the superorganism would breed with itself.

At the moment I'm writing this, I'm merely eight days behind on my writing. A week if you want to be generous. That would be acceptable but for the fact that this is progress.

Why am I writing here if I'm so far behind on what matters?

Ah, yes. Because my last post here was three weeks ago. 


I write for an audience I do not have. An audience so vast that it is nigh innumerable. An audience that would exist but for the fact that no one ever spreads the word about my words.


Fail is a verb. There cannot be a fail. There can be a failure. Can not is as acceptable as cannot. Antidisestablishmentarianism has far too many prefixes. Meaning one. One too many.


Well, I'm done here. To Between the lines to-

Augh. These take forever.


By the way, the abbreviations are BTL, rps, and FWIC. You must never capitalize rps as a rather pleasant site is uncapitalized. Deal with it.