Thanks, that's what I hope for. Sometimes I get "embarrassing navel-gazing" though. (although not of my actual navel...I still think that's unattractive.0

OK. Remember me writing an email to the Royal Engineers, about the vehicles used in bomb disposal in London, circa 1948?

"Dear Deborah

Beverley Williams at the Royal; Engineers museum, has been in touch regarding your enquiry about post war Bomb disposal vehicles. Today i have been in touch with a wartime Bomb disposal officer who remembers that the time in question 1948? that they were still using the wartime vehicles namely the Austin Tilley, and Morris 8 CWT. As Beverley wrote to you these vehicles had red painted front mudguards to distinguish that they were emergency vehicles. I shall continue to ask several other wartime bomb disposal personnel to see if any other vehicles were used, it is widely thought that about this time the Austin Champs were being introduced but i will be in touch shortly.

I love experts. I really do.

Just saw a news bit saying that half the remains from 9/11 can't be identified with current technology. I've always thought it was an incredible opportunity for someone who thought that way to decide to disappear. Somebody who was already bummed, worked in the Towers, maybe got out, maybe was dawdling on the way to work.

Writer's brain is a scary, cynical place.

I've always thought it was an incredible opportunity for someone who thought that way to decide to disappear.

I've seen it both ways on TV -- both to cover up disappearing, and to cover up an unrelated death.

That's a major plot point in Get Shorty: the gambler who misses his plane, watches it crash on takeoff, and tries to use that as a way to get out of the clutches of the mob boss he's in debt to.

Writer's brain is a scary, cynical place.

I heard that report this morning, and I thought the same thing. Great minds...

I occasionally have moral crises that while other people are going, "Oh, the poor families," I'm going, "I can use that."

I occasionally have moral crises that while other people are going, "Oh, the poor families," I'm going, "I can use that."

That's not a moral crisis. It's just writers' mind at work. I don't think I've ever met a writer who didn't react that way, even as we may be condemning ourselves for being heartless.

I caught myself taking mental notes at my own father's funeral on how various relatives were reacting, but I figured Daddy wouldn't have minded. He'd have been snarking right next to me, if he could have seeni t.

Mine usually kicks in after whatever the event is, rather than during; all I remember during my mother's actual funeral in New York in mid-February was how fucking COLD it was (wind chill factor made it just below zero). But afterwards, things began coming clearer, in a very writery poetic sense: how hard the ground had been, the way there was almost an echo underfoot and was that due to the frozen earth itself, or to the catacomb effect of all those holes in the ground, and the colour of the sky, all compact of how I define winter.

For me, it's more as if the event is for absorption and the aftermath is for effective channeling.