My older niece is getting married. I figured her being a teacher she’d have her fill of kids. Her future husband works with software, I think. The wedding has a long drive attached to it and it’s at night. I’ll go, after all it’s an occassion to meet up with relatives I don’t often see. Being sober the drive back won’t be an adventure.

Submitted a story to my critique group. They see things I miss and tell me about them. It’s great therapy. You send a child of yours out into the world and he comes back with a note pinned to his shirt telling you that you’ve raised an idiot. It’s not that bad, you can fix it. The critiques help by finding things you’re too enamored to see. It’s like going out with a person with a sketchy background. Everybody else sees it but you’re in love and are by default, blind.

The above entry is an order to get to work. Writing is a job, your boss is an idiot and the guy that works for you is lazy and they’re the same guy, you. The phrase “Kill your darlings” applies to writers. We fall in love with the breathless prose we’ve released to the world. Too bad the dove we’ve loosed is a peanut mooching common pigeon.

Filled an MP3 player with a bunch of music. A lot of Amy Winehouse, Florence and The Machine and an old Fleetwood Mac album I don’t have. I’m trying to keep a theme. I have to look into other artists. I’m looking to load another one with indie music. I don’t listen to a lot of it but a crash course in it will give me a starting point. I load MP3 players for music in the night. I pick what I want to hear and don’t have to listen to commercials for lawyers or inane ones for a market I can’t shop in.

Television is beginning to look good to me. Should I blow it up before it eats my brain or is it too late? Watching TV is like sleeping with a person with an STD but is really great at sex. It’s reallly bad for you, but knowing yourself, you don’t know when the next partner might appear.

I gotta go. Writing to do. Got to do my job.

See you on Monday.