Lately, I've been having writing dreams, in that I dream that I'm writing down a story or working on a scene. The only problem is that once I wake up, I can never remember the particulars clearly.
In writing news, I pitched a story to an anthology, a submitted another story to a different anthology, and I wrote a 800 flash piece.
Parking at The Day Jobbe continues to be annoying. The other day there was someone parked over the line of the stall, which made it very difficult to squeeze in. There's nothing like that to make me want to key their car, or launch it out of its spot with explosives, or relish other forms of intricate punishment (none of which you can get away with today). I'm sure there's a story in there somewhere--the trick is to keep it from becoming revenge porn. But still, I have to wonder what biochemical mechanism makes it so rewarding to walk through the lot to work while lowly muttering, "You shall be punished. Punished!"
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