Does it sound horribly fickle to announce that as of tonight I have discovered a new best friend? His name is Nigel and he works at the cable company and he helped me get my internet back, after hours, when nobody else could. Apparently there is some sport people watch on Sunday evenings instead of helping distraught writers avert potential freak-out.
How can I write all night without internet? One must have research capability. All sorts of random data shoots out of The Glitter Globe, believe you me it must be verified. Also, on-line dictionaries are mandatory because sometime before dawn I start making up words to go with my imagined facts. If sparktacular isn’t really a word, I’d like to know why not. Same goes for choctacular. (Thanks Bri for inspiring that word.)
It’s another crisp November night up here on spiderama hill. When the choctacular raspberry mochaccino I’m nursing starts to fail in its duty to keep me alert and inventing awesome new words for my novel, I like to dart outside. Nothing can slap you wide awake like a blast of refreshing arctic air. The constellations are crystal clear this time of year. To the north, where sometimes I can catch a ghost of the northern lights, all I see tonight are two mysterious flashing objects. For fun let’s call them sparktacular UFOs.
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