I write every day whether I like it or not. In about three years I'll stop.
Extended inspiration from the fifth one down on the first column. Read related here and here. You give the deckteam shit for misidentifying your Bainbridge and graciously accept a high berth near the exit corridor. Works every time. The robots and gizmos are ‘socking’ your flit so you know you’re in the stix again–everywhere else …
Fleh! I haven’t written since Thursday. Let’s call it a mixture of good reasons, laziness, and spoiled opportunities. I did fiddle with the Hartwhile piece, made a spreadsheet of some threads I might devote my final hundred days to, and joined a genealogy site to help organize the Bringer family tree. So, there’s that. Narkkid …
Narkkid put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The girl stopped abruptedly and turned. Narkkid waggled the [something characteristic] cylinder in her hand. Even at the distance she was Narkkid could see her lips tighten into a pissed sneer.