Am I an idiot for believing that a bunch of fanfic with a proven and eager audience of a couple of hundred people is a better use of my skill than attempts to pitch stories to people who don't know me from Eve? It's not the money. There are people out there who talk about my stuff amongst themselves and write me thoughtful emails commenting on what's going on and what might happen next.

Connie, I'm exactly the same sort of idiot, so you're in good company.

so you're in good company

Yup.

I want everything. And if I don't write, I hurt people.

Erika, that is the best thing I have seen in a very long time. Can I tag?

And if I don't write, I hurt people

More fun than therapy, cheaper than drugs.

If you want, Kristin, please. (Although to be completely accurate, I'm my own victim more often than not. But I count as people, right?)

But I count as people

Some people never get to that stage of realization, that not hurting people includes themselves.

For Chino

When we first saw her in the pet store, she was just past true kittenhood, six months old.

"Oooooh!" My daughter was enchanted. "She's all golden!"

She was, too. A cameo shade Persian, gleaming yellow cat with yellow eyes, a purr that could be heard rattling across a room. We brought her home with us.

Fourteen years later, she is skin and bone. Cancer has taken hold. She sleeps on the big soft pillow in our living room, deep into dying. I touch her a lot, trying to reassure, to ease her out. Sometimes, her purr rattles under my hand.

This one's for Capuccino, purest gold.

Aww, deb.

New poem, written in the "Written Right Now"contest at a local reading:

Light-Up Plastic Tiara

The apocalypse is a cable gameshow,
wears Vegas like a tiara,
smokes tobacco straight like scorched earth,
recycles in the late-night slots,
only the stoned will see it coming.