I Am A Terrorist

Here is an incident, all too believable, which points out that an education devoid of humor is not much of a benefit.

Out of the depths

Sorry all about the long hiatus. For the last few months I have been overcome with melancholy ... or depression. A strange conspiracy of fates created an intersection of multiple deaths, births, poverty, computer failure, automobile failure, which combined with my natural melancholia to essentially cork my whines. In order to cure myself, or at least retrieve my ability to communicate, I have straightened my study, and surgically removed about 30% of my books. Included in this liberectomy are nearly all of my supporting library for technical writing. This is probably a good thing since it indicates my acceptance of the probability that I will not be re-employed in that field ... certainly not at the level that I was. It seems to me that it is time to write more durable prose. It is odd to realize that I have written over 100 books in the last 20 years and not a single one of them remains in print, having died with the software it explained. I have a novel that needs a bit of work before being launched on the whimsical sea of publisher's taste.

I heard a disturbing comment from an executive at Borders recently. Apparently he feels that he should be able to tell authors how to change their plots and characters to make the book acceptable to the chain!

I also have a history of Farmington, ME that needs some work. I should try to get that done soon since I have a hankering to win the National Novel Writing Month contest again.