Post-it break

And this is the part of the evening when I find myself going in circles on the internet between music videos on youtube and the one social site I hang out on, because I have no idea where to take my novel now?

I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee, I lost count but I think it's my seventh cup of the evening. Having written about ten pages on the novel in the last two hours,  and finding myself walking in circles in the apartment working out the next segment.

Time for a break.   This is why movies about writers always deal with their romances or something, because otherwise, all you would see on screen is a person sitting in a room by themselves typing and talking out loud to themselves every so often. Glamorous eh?

As always Herman, you being the chatter-box you are never letting a girl get a word in edgewise, must do something about that.  Do you have decent microphone skills there Mr. Scratchy?  Are you one of the guys who can run the crowd on the fly with the simple use of your vocabulary?  Or are you one of the ones who needs to have his microphone privileges removed?  Do you Mr. Scratchy, give good script?

Well, I imagine you reading this right now, maybe wiping the screen from spitting out whatever you were drinking when you read my last few lines. Rolling your eyes at me, mumbling to yourself that "at lest she didn't mention that damned Mad Hatter again."  Unless of course he's sitting there with you reading over your shoulder laughing. (In which case you are someone I might need to tell to pick one hair colour and stick with it.) Or you know, you. In which case you're probably going "dude, you made the blog again this week."  
So where was I...right, I imagine you sitting there dressed in a pair of ripped track pants, maybe you don't even realized you snagged them on something tearing a small spot on your ass, exposing your underwear.

And on that note Mr. Scratchy, I hope I brought a smile to your face, and maybe a blush to your pale skin.