Picking a side

... I'll have the salad, thanks.

... and the mystery novel. You may or may not recall (or care) that I'd given myself a deadline some time ago to get chapter one on another book done by the end of... well... erm... last month.

Anyway. About a month late, I think I've decided which of the three or four reasonably developed ideas currently in my head I most want to pursue. Broadly speaking, it's a mystery novel, one I actually put a few tens of thousands of words together on some years back.

Damn. Y'know, there was a time in my life I actually had some respect for deadlines. That being when I was a reporter, and you eventually got fired and/or beaten if you didn't, mind you. Getting soft in my old age.

Ah well. Hereby resetting the deadline to the end of this month. Stay tuned.

On the road

Business tripping today. If I were the sort of writer who does that sort of thing, there'd be a standard observation on how all airports look the same right about here.

I'm not. So there won't be.

The once free and independent press

Greg Palast has a few choice words on the demise of the fourth estate in the US, in the context of the kerning BS.

I suppose it's past redundant now to comment how utterly obscene it is, with this much blood on the floor (and in the alleys, and in the road, and generally spread over the parched earth), and this many sour, disgusting, killing lies told, with an administration in office whose only demonstrable talent, in fact, seems to be in the telling of those lies, that somehow the story is...

... a typeface. Or, more specifically and pathetically, the typeface of documents whose actual content is independently confirmed.

I'm beginning to think the US deserves this chimp. But what, I ask you, did the rest of us do?