I've been doing some research regarding certain words so I know if it's all right to use them in the earlier parts of Angels in Black Suits. Freak has been around for 400 years.

And fey, it has all kinds of connotations I didn't know it had.

I've got to kick to this flu bug. It's wearing me out.

Hmm so Benn ran column number two last night. It was about the severe wimpiness of Jonathan Harker.

That reminds me, Mark, my editor in New York, and I have been back and forth about content vs contents vs stories. I might do something about that subject.

I had a dream that someone told me I'd tied my life to a dead body and when I looked down I was indeed attached to a bloated dead body. I screamed but not loudly enough to wake myself up.

I think I should hunt down whoever invented sickness and demand an explanation. Probably a very loud, arms milling about sort of demand.

Biff. Name of the day. Going to be my kidnap victim fake name I expect.

ideas scatter like dice across the table
there are no losers here
twenty sided D and D dice
knuckle bones like Death uses in Kitta

open and of then and a story spills out
a wolf and his grrl here
a reconstructed body there
a vampire who can't sleep

a werewolf with alopecia
a punk rock mom standing on a bridge
two women armed with lysol
a fairy wearing only leather

all of these dice tumble across
the green velvet of my mind
and scream what are you waiting for
write us down and send us out

i have to agree, why don't i?
this terrible sleepiness?
fear of acceptance?
concern that i won't ever finish?

i won't if i don't start
so i'll gather those dice
rattle them in my hand lovingly
throw them; let them land as they will

and i'll let them lead me
where they choose
across a barren landscape
or through a lush brothel

it's all the same to my
characters as long
as i write them down
do as they say, let them play
and follow where they lead

My poor little brain is filled with so many ideas I think they're going to either start a food chain and I'll end up with one big idea that then implodes or they'll run out my ear. Not a pretty vision either way.

Some publishing things are looking very good for some friends so I am quite proud but don't want to say too much too soon.

And that's it for me because I've been working all freaking day and it's going to be tomorrow in two minutes.

Wrote a lot for Carnal Fear today.

Benn is running my Who Writes This Crap piece this week. Happy days!

I was doing some research online because I am so not sleeping and I found this thing called Fatal Familial Insomnia. Now let's pretend you are a doctor and you have to tell someone they have this. How do you do it?

Take one: The tests indicate you have fatal - patient WHAT????? *faints*

Take two: Congratulations. You've got something that's quite rare and it has an interesting name. It's called Fatal - patient WHAT????? *slugs doctor*

Take three: Doctor hands patient homemade flyer and runs from room.

I just finished a project I seriously thought I'd never ever finish so that's a happy thing. And that's it because I'm so bloody tired.

I have no idea what Cul is watching but some superhero guy just said my ring has no power over aluminum!

How lame is that? I could only retort my ring has no power over cheese!

Honestly. I suppose that's why people wrap their heads in al-u-min-ium. To protect themselves from dude's RING OF POWER!!!!!

Oops I forgot to mention Cullen's penguin dealie. He says that penguins hang about on the edge of a cliff and jostle each, blatantly or sneakily, I'm unclear, but I'm quite sure about the jostling.

They jostle until one of them falls into the sea. Then the rest peer over the edge like pensioners looking for a lost pair of spectacles. They watch, hopefully I assume, to see if one of their brethren is consumed by a shark. If it is I have no idea what they do next.

Perhaps one says I told you we should have tried the south side at which point the rest all shove him off for being a know it all.

However if no shark appears they all leap in and do penguiny sorts of things.

But I have to wonder what the first, jostled penguin does when all the rest go to sleep that night.

Just talking to a friend about penguins.

I remember reading that there was going to be this study because there was a rumour that low flying planes were making the penguins fall over.

Seems that since they didn't have a lot to think about, and I have to wonder what they do think about, when a plane flew over they'd just watch it by tilting their heads back, back, back until they fell over.

So someone spent a fortune studying the effects of aircraft on penguins with the ultimate goal of making penguin areas no fly zones.

My opinion is that penguins can stand back up and if it gives them some entertainment then why bother studying the plane impact? Perhaps the penguins have formed these very complex legends about the airplanes and who are we to take them away?

The penguins might think they've angered the Gods and then they'll have to have a sacrifice and slaughter each other and who knows where it will all end.

I've been thinking about the Stephen King 300 words a day = a novel in a year thing.

So if I do 300 words on Angels, 300 words on Carnal Fear and then fit in what I can on my scripts, market my stuff, do my day job, write my column, take care of my kids, why then in a year I'll have two novels, at least three feature scripts and a very pretty straitjacket.

How do you spell straitjacket anyway? Probably not the same way I do.

Today I did just that. I sent an article in to Benn of the Shank, wrote 300 words of Angels, 300 of Carnal Fear. And now I shall work on my vampire script.

If anyone out there has any suggestions for a name for my angel feel free to email it to me. I'm thinking of Michael. I'd need to look up more of his history first. I think he's an archangel but I'm not even sure. In face I've no idea what an archangel is.

All I can think right now is that Adam and the Ants song that starts out the angel Gabriel...

Oh I need to know so many things. One of them is why can't I download my dreams, edit them and then release them as shorts? Believe me there are lots and lots of women who would love to have the dreams I have. Oh yes....

I'm hounded by the interconnectedness of things. Douglas Adams' phrase of course but I fell in love with it the moment I read it because it's so true.

My family consists entirely of fans of Mr. Adams. His death in 2001 hit me very hard.

I took part in towel day although I didn't see anyone else who did.

Danny never read much. Or at least not to himself. He loved to read to me and to the boys. The day he died he finally picked up The Hitch Hikers Guide and read the first page or two and was delighted and very excited.

In fact he wanted to read it to us on the drive home.

I said no because I didn't want the light on in the van, even though it was behind me and I don't think it would have interfered. The way things worked out I'm glad I said no because otherwise it's just one more thing that I'd be wondering about.

One of the thousands of things that have been so sad to me is that Dan found this brilliant writer and then didn't get to enjoy him. It's a terrible injustice to me that after months of us telling him he'd love Mr. Adams Dan finally found him and then it was all ruined for him.

Chris says don't be sad, Dan and Douglas are chilling together now and Douglas can tell Dan anything he wanted to know about the Hitch Hikers books or the Dirk Gently books.

I'm still reading this very old thread over at the well.

It's odd reading old threads or blogs because I know that painful events are coming up and I kind of cringe, seeing these people talking, being innocent, having no idea that something horrible is coming. Even if those people include myself.

The mourning ritual I'm doing for Dan is meant to last a year and a day. One reason I chose that ritual is because we spoke about handfasting, which also lasts a year and a day.

And now I see that Mr. Adams died exactly one year and one day before Danny did and I see that the interconnectedness of things is so deep that I'll never touch the bottom.

I see that Neil was writing about Saki today.

There are certain people that I think contributed to my love of grand hoaxes. Saki is one of them. PG Wodehouse is another.

Someday I want to pull off a grand and glorious hoax. The wrecking the wedding thing would be a very small beginning to the things I'd like to do.

Of course billing myself as the Heir to the Emperor Norton's throne over at triggerstreet is a good start.

I've done some lovely hoaxy things that I'll talk about later but right now I am so sleepy I can't bear it. One of then is convincing my friend Colin that I was from England but that was more of an accident than anything else. More later.

Happy Birthday Megan! I love you.

When I get mail that says things like "your writing is addictive" or the very swoony things a dear friend said to me today and I think how very swoony, I wonder if I ever will swoon.

Then I wonder if when I write back someone might say to a friend I made Geo swoon today. You know, she wrote that thing, you know, that thing that I read you bits of that you liked so much. No not that thing, the other one. Oh just forget it.

I've got an awful, wicked, funny idea for another short. Perhaps it's best for the world that I don't have money, a DV camera and some lovely editing equipment. But oh how I wish I did.

And damn it, after seeing my youngest son's recital today I want to direct so badly I can feel my bones straining from the effort of not directing.

I just spent the last hour hashing out the bones of Angels in Black Suits. I think I have the merest bones.

No tendons or anything mind you. Not the barest hint of flesh or fat or, heaven forbid, skin but I've got an idea and I think by gum this thing is going to rock someone's world.

Maybe a lot of people's worlds.

Have you ever had that one perfect moment when it all became quite apparent that you were very, very, very wrong about everything? That none of this was happening to any of you?

That it was all a dream. A detailed dream, yes, perfect down to the last drop of blood soaking your shoes, the last drop of rain falling into your love's eyes, every tiny detail exactly right but all of it making one horrible whole that couldn't be right.

And you knew, you knew in your heart and in your brain and in your soul, in the very heart of your spirit that this was all wrong that this wasn't the way things were meant to me.

You were supposed to be crossing the state line. Getting closer to home. Weeks of time with each other stretching ahead of you.

Not these moments of terror and blood and screaming and not knowing what would happen next and this mystery man (angel?) appearing beside you and wrapping you in his arms and not letting you go until you promised to be cool, be cool for Danny because he needed you to be cool.

Idle musing past my bedtime. Haven't slept before five in days.

Have this oh so hilarious idea for an insane film. Short, feature, who knows. It would be very improv in - ouch this hurts to say - a Blair Witchy sort of way.

I wonder how much it costs to have a nice wedding.

Or how much it costs to wreck someone's nice wedding and then go through the lawsuit after.

Chris is thinking of renting a table and selling some of his stuff at a craft show. I reminded him that Jeannie told him he could use her peace flags she designed and put into the public domain, though they seem to have vanished from the web.

Then I said but you really have to be careful. You never know how upset someone will get about peace these days. Remember those two guys who got arrested for refusing to take off their peace t-shirts.

It's almost like you have to stand on a street corner in a trenchcoat and say, "psst, got peace for sale"

I've been working on Angels in Black Suits. It's different from my usual work. I generally have some idea where my story is going. In fact I sometimes have the last line first.

But this story. I don't know. All I had to begin with was this idea that the guy who gave me a free ticket to Disneyland was an Angel. In a black suit.

And then it got stranger and stranger. Now everyone who has seen the first few paragraphs are saying things like "What are the hoses for?" "I need to know about the uniform!" "What does the dad do?" "What's up with the baby?" "What is the first Angel trying to stop? Will he stop it?"

I say don't worry, I won't leave you hanging.

I'm hanging. I don't have a clue. Maybe an inkling. I know what's going to happen for the next two pages. Or I did last night. I did two pages today. Now I have this new character and I like her and I don't want her to die. I know what should happen to her but have I got the ovararios to do it to her? I don't know.

I've had scripts go off in a different direction than I thought they would. A character who was meant to be supporting became much more important but I've never had a rom/com turn into a horror script before. Not that this is a script. Or at least it isn't right now. It could turn into a Sci Fi Channel mini series by the time it's done with me.

I was reading about that new squid that they caught and I was wondering why on earth do they say eyes as big as dinner plates? And then I see they caught her right in the middle of eating. So I guess that's the connection.

I read they live solitary lives and rarely get to mate. I guess not if we're always dragging them out of the sea in the middle of a nice snack and displaying them like a two penny hooker.

Okay I just realized I have no idea what a two penny hooker looks like. I also realize I don't need to know. My imagination will do me just fine, thank you very much.

Why can't we take some of the places that have cheap rent and put them right splat in the middle of the good school districts?

And while we're at it, let's take some of the good paying jobs and move them to the cheaper neighbourhoods.

And if we can't accomplish that then my ass wants a teleporter. I'll wait. You all have ten minutes. I'll be right here. If you can't get me some combination of the above a tutor will suit me just fine.

Trust me, it's for the good of the country.

I was noticing I've been talking a good bit about things I don't like so I thought I'd talk about things I do like. My surgeon, Dr. Rosoff, who is a wonderful man to whom I owe my life, told me I have an affinity to Jewish men and he's quite right. I'm also drawn to British men and when you combine them forget it, I'm done for.

I was talking to my friend charmpri and I was asking him about Rugby. I've been reading British novelists since as long as can remember. If you insist on accuracy I've actually been reading their books but whatever. Now football I can figure out. I can even read it in Russian. (My boss, Andras showed me how one day) charmpri explained a bit about Rugby and now I have an inkling.

But cricket. My lord I hadn't a clue. I must have read hundreds of books that mentioned crickets and I was pretty sure it involved white uniforms and red balls and bowling, but not American bowling, and bats, but not American bats or flying bats (though that would be would be intriguing) and perhaps a sticky wicket but I might have gotten that last part from a PG Wodehouse novel.

"Bit of a sticky wicket, eh old chap?"

"Yes, yes, but nothing a spot of tea won't put right."

Or perhaps a jellied eel. And what that is I never, ever, ever want to know. The consumption of Turkish Delight was one of the biggest letdowns of my adult life and led me to wonder what on earth Edmund saw in it and why he let the Witch give him piece one.

I've a feeling I got most of my cricket knowledge from Douglas Adams.

Anyway, I finally watched The Crying Game and it did give me a hint of what cricket might be about. I liked the film a lot even though the "surprise" was ruined by the first review of the film which is why it took me so long to see it. I thought the acting was good. But I've got a question. Forrest Whittaker was good. Quite good. Why is he so wretched in The New Twilight Zone? Did he have an actingectomy? If he did it's really a shame.