Thursday, January 26, 2012

Harper Collins reviews "I've Been Deader"

‘I’ve Been Deader’ is a comedy-horror novel about a sudden uprising of zombies in America. Unlike more traditional zombie narratives, ‘I’ve Been Deader’ provides the reader with the unusual perspective of one of the ‘undead’, Fred. Unlike more traditional zombies, Fred is a ‘thinker’ and preserves memories of himself from his life; most significantly, memories of his son, Timmy. As the novel progresses, Fred discovers that he has the capacity to control other zombies. Through his ingenuity, the ‘undead’ have an outside chance of triumphing over the living.   My first reaction to this book was torn. On the one hand, it would be a difficult title to market: the writing is crass in places and occasionally clich├ęd; the characters are hyperbolised and largely disagreeable; and the narrative does not fit easily within any set genre. However, despite this, I found myself enjoying the reading experience and eager to continue. Whilst the comedy standard was rarely “laugh out loud”, there were moments of brilliance and, generally, a confident use of form and language that overrode many of the other issues. I have read a good number of books on authonomy and I believe this included a collection of “Shorts” by the same author, which also illustrated the same sense of craft and strong narrative voice.   To improve this book’s appeal to publishers, there are a number of edits that I’d suggest the author consider. Firstly, I often found the comedy a little too tactless and self-conscious. The humour in ‘I’ve Been Deader’ works best when it is character and/or action focussed (Jon Tanner’s conversion to a dark warrior; Stanley laughing hysterically as he prepares to burn Janet’s body; Osbourne’s bugbears about grammar – I could go on). In contrast, quips and puns voiced by the narrative often came across as either forced or overly culturally specific – sometimes both. I’m thinking specifically of lines like:   “The zombie virus, if it was a virus, had spread like wildfire, completely surprising the shit out of the world, except maybe for Haiti.”   “Those cheap fluorescents could make Mel Gibson look like a Jew at a KKK bake sale.”   Such lines generally felt like ‘cheap’ one-liners that added nothing to the reading experience. They also mean that the book will age very quickly, and may well be alienating for non-American readers. On a similar note, I found the narrative could, at times, be overly sarcastic towards the characters, which often distracted from the characterisation. For example, when describing Ellen’s fear of technology, it is not really necessary to include “shudder” in parenthesis – we’ve already been told that she finds the internet “vaguely horrifying”.   What I liked most about this novel was the construction. Rounded, stand-alone chapters that read almost as pieces of flash-fiction are very appropriate for the growing market of modern readers who expect content to be bite-sized. Occasionally this resulted in moments of repetition, but these were rare and, as with many of the other areas of weakness in the manuscript, could easily be edited out.   Even with these revisions, the question of whether this novel is too ‘niche’ to be taken on by any major publishing house will likely remain; however, there is sometimes a place for eccentricity. I was unexpectedly impressed by the chapters that I read and would be very happy to read a complete manuscript.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Spam Spam Spam

My collection of short stories is available for download.   If you are like me, you enjoy doing things that make me happy, and nothing will make me happier than knowing you paid good money for my book.   You will find Inside My Shorts a little dark in places, but if you look long enough, you'll find youself saying "this is funny!". Don't worry, I'm used to that. I figure, it happened to me all the time in college, at least now I can get paid for it. So, please, don't neglect my shorts. For less than $3.00 -- $2.50 if we're in Bangkok, I promise to show you a good time. Like in-laws and and bad pennies, my stories like to stick around long after you're done with them, so take a look Inside My Shorts. They're dark, dirty in some places, and good for a laugh.   You can buy me here:   No one has to know.  It will be our little secret.   Thanks!

Friday, January 20, 2012

Pirates are scary. Google is scarier.

As I was reading another excellent story in "Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies", I couldn't help but think about the white elephant in the internet.  Google.

The other day, I was looking in my neighbor's window, minding my own business, when I received a tweet telling me the Mayans were right and that something called SOPA might be ruining my life by breakfast.   "SOPA?" I said to myself.  Then I giggled a bit and said it over and over.  "SOPA, SOPA, SOPA."  It's a funny word.  

I had no idea what SOPA was (Q: "What's SOPA?"  A:  "I don't know.  Whatsa SOPA with you?").  My Magic 8-Ball kept saying "Ask Again Later," but I could already hear the police sirens and I knew I'd be busy the rest of the day, so I went on Wikipedia for answers.

Except Wikipedia wasn't there.  It had "gone dark."  Ignoring the urge to make a crack about interracial porn, I went to, which for good or ill, was up and running.   Apparently, SOPA is a proposed piece of legislation designed to destroy the internet, prevent me from downloading unaired outakes from "The Bachelor," and plunge the world into darkness.   Thank God Google and Wikipedia were there to champion the right to an unfettered internet.  But Google needed my help.   I had to notify my Congressman immediately that I thought SOPA (lol) was a terrible idea.  I mean, first Obama wants to eat my children, and now this.   Enough is enough!   Google was thoughtful enough to provide links to my Congressman and suggestions on what to say.

In fact, Google, Wikipedia and the like, were able to mobilize millions of outraged keyboard clickers, and they did it pretty quickly.  I felt safer and reassured, and so I decided to read another story.

 Hey Pirates, why not buy my book for those long, lonely voyages between raiding Fox Entertainment and iTunes.

But then I had a disturbing thought.  Google, Wikipedia and Charlie Sheen are able to mobilize millions of people to do their bidding at a drop of a hat.  Today it was SOPA (hee-hee), but what about tomorrow?  What if Google isn't happy with a particular candidate's platform?  Is there anything to stop it from asking me and the rest of the fickle public to express our outrage at Mitt Romney's questionable stance on social issues (It's bad enough I got sucked into one marriage, now I have to worry about marrying three wives?  For God's sake, I only have two ears!).   Or maybe there's a piece of legislation that will require more regulation on the web, which will result in greater costs to Google.  Will I get an urgent tweet telling me to contact my representative immediately?  

I'm not a big fan of pirates that don't answer to Captain Depp, but the thought of a "Google Knows Best" world doesn't give me a warm puppy feeling either.


Thursday, January 19, 2012

Movie Remakes

  Fatal Attraction: Would have to include a scene with the woman sitting in a dark corner of Starbucks, turning her Blackberry off and on and off and on...

Star Wars: OB One taking a little blue pill before his light saber battle.

Basic Instinct: No changes to the movie. But extensive "never before seen out takes" on the dvd. Or maybe have all the detectives using their camera phones.

Monday, January 16, 2012

I've Been Reader

I recently browsed the CIA World Fact website, which gives information on every country in the world.  Like you, I was surprised to see that there are still plenty of people who haven't purchased "Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies" .   I found this troubling, given the great press my book has received, and the recent thinness of my wallet.

Before you move on to more interesting blogs (oxymoron?), take a look what all the beautiful people are saying:

Splinker! [That's me]

You shocked me with this absolute class line - George was a piece of sandstone and life an unforgiving river. It was exceptional.  The stories may be a little on the dark side, but they still border on better than good. Well written and very well edited, it's a collection I'll be back to dip into [it] time and time again. - LizX

Oh my God,
The first one took my quite by surprise. Never expected it. had to stop reading cos its "under construction" but I can say this. You can tell a story. I don't like dark but this was good.

You're right Splinker, I LOVE Inside my Shorts!! Great short stories - subtle, consise and to the point, but with a delicious air of mystery. It's book I could read anytime, anywhere. Great stuff!  - Kate Grimes

Here's a link to a mixed review!  Short and Sweet

So, why are you still here?  Go buy it.  Revel in the phenomena that is me! Paradise Awaits!

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Here's the first story, one of thirty-one.   Each story is quite different, but you can get an idea of what the author delivers.   If you enjoy what you read, think about buying the whole enchilada.  Either way, I'd love to hear what you think, so post a comment here or on the book's Amazon page (preferably both).

Come play in my shorts.

 By nine-thirty that morning, Clare felt completely done in. Rain -- unyielding, unforgiving and unending -- fell in cold sheets, washing away what little color was left in her world.  Even her morning coffee and scone were tasteless and dry.  I
She sat at her desk, her three-walled prison, patting her still damp hair with a paper towel, Clare worried over the thousand small stresses that seemed to have taken over her life.  A mental game of jeopardy, with categories like "RELATIONSHIPS," "FINANCES," "FAMILY" kept surfacing and fading in her mind.
"This bill needs to be paid by Friday if you want to stay warm. Answer: What is gas? Correct!!
Days like today muted happiness and magnified the rest. The rain’s soft and constant splatter whispered in her ear, encouraging her to give up.
The remains of her coffee, long gone cold sat on her desk, ignored. Even the weak office lighting jumped on the bandwagon, pulling at the frayed threads of her spirit. She gave a tired sigh and glanced out the office window, and gave a soft gasp.  For the past forever it had overlooked a white desert of snow, snow dunes, and snow banks.
Now, today of all days, she was presented with a new vista. Most of the snow had washed away. Muddy grass, resurrected from a summer a million years ago greeted her eyes.
 And daffodils!
She leaned forward in her chair and drank in the sight. A clutch of four, sunny yellow daffodils, framed in a sea of muddy, dead grass.  
She felt the warmth of them. A ghost memory of warm grass tickled her nose. She sat for some time as unacknowledged tension melted away, sloughing off her shoulders and back, an invisible avalanche reacting to her thaw.
And then she smiled....
Joe from accounting stared at his monitor, another office zombie waiting for motivation.
Friday – cold and rainy. The last place he wanted to be was exactly where he was.  Days like this always left him tired and feeling thin from the moment he woke up. Everything appeared muted, unreal. A slate gray sky hanging inches above the world, pressing down on everything.
He looked up from his work, his gaze wandering aimlessly across a dull room of secretary desks and bleached green carpet. His eyes touched upon Clare for a second, another colorless prop.
And then she smiled.
Heat flared inside him as he drank her in.
He’d heard the phrase used on many occasions and now he understood. She smiled and he couldn't breathe, stunned.
The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; a blazing promise of joy and summer. Life.
He stared, hands shaking slightly on his keyboard.   Not thinking, just being.  Everything changed right then.  
Impossible to tell whether the world or the man was transformed.
In the end, it didn't matter.   

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Cheap Shots

I received an email today from a dissatisfied reader regarding "Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies" .   She complimented my writing, voice, style, etc., but said she was disappointed with how many stories focused on the "darker elements of the human condition." 

I can see her point.   The collection isn't focused on one particular genre.  There's humor, of course, but there's plenty of horror, murder and romance as well.  Should I have limited the collection to one genre?  Maybe more people are willing to part with three big ones if they know all the stories will be what they expect.   There is something to be said for that, I admit.

Oh well.

Fun Facts about "I've Been Deader"

1. After my second round of "final edits," the manuscript contained the word "slowly" in twenty-seven places. I have cut them down to eleven.

2. After going on an adverb hunt, the manuscript is now 409 words lighter.

3. I did not delete adverbs for adverb's sake, but found that they they tended to congregate in groups and repeat themselves. Much like people at office holiday parties.

4. I intend on submitting "I've Been Deader" in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest, assuming no better offers pop up between now and next week (HINT HINT).

5. I will be adding a few more chapters from "Jenny's Journal" throughout the novel. My intent at the moment is to make Jenny the protagonist of the third book.   Her first two entries can be read here in the archived blogs.

6. Except for one or two very minor, borderline subplot holes, the story is nice and tight and follows the rules of the "I've Been Deader" universe. This was a nice surprise.

7. The book received a lot of positive feedback on,, and elsewhere, back when it was unfinished and filled with errors. It's much better now and I have no doubt that your collective jaws would drop if you got your sweaty hands on a copy of "I've Been Deader," a near perfect blend of horror and comedy."

8. The prequel, 'Take A Breather," is darker and cranks up the tension factor quite a bit.  

9. "I've Been Deader" generated 636 comments on Authonomy, inspired the now famous "I've Been Deader, the musical" thread, became the source of several poems and unsolicited mentions on forums and people's blogs, for which I am grateful.

10. That's it. Not every list has to have exactly ten things to it.

11.  Both "I've Been Deader" and "Take A Breather" started out as short stories -- flash fiction really.  I write quite the short story.  Don't believe me?   See for yourself.  The first two stories can be previewed for free.
 The good stuff is going to cost you.

"Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies" American Style   

For the hoplessly British Click there (right behind me where it says "For the hopelessly British."  If you're from one of those British-like countries, you can click there too).

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Wednesday is poetry day (sorry).

Tequila flavored dancers
touch my life from time to time,
the sweetness of seduction mixed with salt and lime.

and the bars are closing early and my nights are getting blurry
as we sweat the righteous sweat of good clean sin.
and we're howling in the night as we hold
each other tight,
longing and desperation
touched with gin.

the lights are poppin' brightly
and the music's unforgiving.
let the devil wait his turn
and let's get on with living,
as we revel in each other's chance to burn.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Why The GOP is D.O.A.

I don't have an answer, really.  I just thought the title was great.

I suppose that in order to get the nomination, they have to cater to the nutballs, and once they get the nomination, they have to deal with the nutballs.  An American Catch-22.

You know you've woken up on the wrong side of the looking glass when Newt Gingrich is waxing poetic on the sanctity of marriage.   Or Mitt Romney claiming his magic underwear will secure him the nomination.

 "It was just one time in college."

Listen, I've been blogging about politics for several minutes, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that I know as much as anyone else.   So trust me when I say it is less important who wins, then how we react.  Not since the great "Less Filling, Tastes Great!" wars of the early '80s has the country been so divided and angry with each other.  Can you believe people are still trying to get their hands on Obama's green card?  Or accusing Sarah Palin of using PAC money to buy a van full of Moose Jerky?

Enough is enough.  It's time to set aside our political differences.  If you're a democrat, go hug a republican.  If you're a republican, go hug a scientist.  Stop arguing already.  I implore each and every one of you, liberal and conservative; rich and poor, black and white, Muslim and Jew, Penn and Teller, to put aside your differences, come together, and buy "Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies,"  Like Mitt Romney, "Inside My Shorts" tries to please everybody with $3.04 to spare, and since it can only be downloaded electronically, you'll be saving a tree with every purchase.

So buy my book, and then we can all tea party.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Zombie Poems For Naughty Children

Some poems to delight and fright :)


A zombie came a knocking,
came a knockin' on my door.

"Go away, go away, I've no brains to share today!"

He kept scratchin' and a nippin'
My flesh he tried to rip in.

"Go away, go away, I've no brains to share today!"

But he kept groaning and a moanin',
on a bone he was a gnawing.

"Go away, go away, I've no brains to share today!"

At last he turned and went,
but one last time I had to vent.

"Go away, go away! I've no brains to share today!"

Now I'm alone and that's a fact.
I miss you zombie, please come back!



I dug a grave all fresh and new,
a granite tombstone, just for you.
I put you under late today.
Now I pray that you will stay.


A Woman's Work Is Never Done

The one on the couch, I cut off his head.
I bashed another in her bed.
A pointed stick that was a broom,
impaled one more in the living room.
 Now to the basement with my gun,
just one quick shot and  housecleaning's done!


All alone and safe in bed,
No one can hurt me, 'cause they're all dead.
I used lots of lime, now their out back.
Oh no! The closet's open just a crack.

There's nothing there (they can't come back),
No leering eyes, or dirty claws,
No bloody knifes in dresser draws.
For killing dead, I have a knack,
but now it's open, just a crack.

Just a crack, but not a sound,
'cause what's dead is dead and under ground.
I didn't hear two hangers ding,
I didn't hear a blessed thing.
'cause they're dead, and dead don't come back,
but still, it's open,

Just a crack.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

"I've Been Deader" A Free Chapter

Here's the first chapter of "I've Been Deader," a near perfect blend of horror and comedy.   If you are one of the few remaining unread, I would love to know what you think.  



            Fred's ruined face stared back at him from a fractured, mold-spotted mirror. There was no denying that he'd seen better days. The remains of breakfast pooled around his feet and a pair of lace panties clung to his shoe, glued there by God knew what. Bits of flesh were stuck between his yellow teeth, along with the sodden remains of a "hand wash only" label.
Being a zombie is no picnic.
            He wiped his gore-stained hands on a filthy shirt, not sure if he was cleaning the hands or the shirt.  He felt compelled to pause and take stock of himself. His right eye looked like a crushed egg yolk and his left leg was broken in at least two places. A large splinter of bone poked through the skin above his thigh, fine dark lines etched across the surface like a bad piece of scrimshaw. The open wound on his neck had started leaking again, but at least the fluid was mostly clear now.
            No use dwelling on negatives. Time to get to work. He turned away from his reflection and limped out of the men's room of the Vince Lombardi rest area.
An overly bright morning sun assaulted him as he stepped outside.  Fred gave a mental wince, wishing again that he could blink.  Sunlight had no adverse effect on the undead, but he had never been a morning person. Rain or shine, today he had to shamble over to Terminal C of Newark Airport, where eight breathers were making their last stand.  Zombies were lone hunters and rarely worked together.  Every so often, however, a kind of collective broadcast signal went out over the undead grapevine, announcing the newest brain buffet -- in a shopping mall, a church, or an airport - with predictable and satisfying results.
Dozens were already making their way down the New Jersey turnpike. By their mindless, "movie" slow pace, he knew they hadn't fed. Zombies weren’t Jesse Owens on the best of days, but they tended to move a lot faster with a little brain in the old furnace.
If Fred could breathe, he would have sighed. It looked like hundreds of zombies would be fighting over eight brains and assorted bits. Assuming the breathers were able to take out 10 to 20% of the attacking hoard before being overwhelmed, that still left about ten zombies per breather. With luck, however, he would still be the brainiac of the pack by the time he got there. Having his wits about him gave a zombie an edge in the hunt. Depending on the specific virus strain or whatever it was that put the mojo in their mortified flesh, some undead could reason and even remember who they were as breathers. So far Fred hadn't come across any other "thinkers," as he called himself, but he couldn't imagine he was the only one.
By mid-afternoon, he found himself actually enjoying his walk down the turnpike. Most of the fires had burned themselves out and although the air still reeked of burning gasoline, the skies were more or less smoke-free. Even a walking corpse could appreciate a warm, spring day like this one. Fred pulled his lips up in what should have been a grin.
Death, ruin and destruction improved the New Jersey Turnpike.
Not that there wasn’t a black lining to be found around his own little rainbow of a life. Most of the zombies were a few hundred yards down the road, but two lesser undead doggedly tagged alongside of Fred, putting a bit of a damper on things. The virus left them as nothing more than…, well, nothing more than zombies. They were about as interesting as slugs and moaned so much that, were Fred alive, he’d be sporting a hell of a migraine.
All in all, however, the day was turning out quite well. He could almost convince himself being undead wasn’t so bad. Sure, it was bad luck that he was 45 years old with a rather large potbelly when he had been bitten by that damned clerk. Being cursed to wander the earth in search of brains was bad enough, but why couldn’t it have happened when he was twenty years younger and thirty pounds lighter?
He was imagining wandering the earth in search of fresh brains as a slimmer, sleeker and younger Fred, when the head of the zombie on his left exploded. Fred limped over to an abandoned Ford Explorer and crouched down, scanning the area for the source of the ambush. The other walking corpse stopped and stared vacantly, a low "Braaaaiiiinnnnsss?" emitting from its drooling mouth. Fred felt a sense of relief when a bullet took the second one through its right eye. Those two had just about gotten on his last dead nerve.
A glint of light in the tall grass by a pond off the side of the road revealed the breather's position. It looked like there was only the one.  
The lone gunman on the grassy shoal, Fred thought with a mental smile.
He stood up from behind the Explorer, pointed at the area where the gunman was hidden, made the undead scream of discovery - then ducked back down behind the SUV and waited. Several zombies with lesser survival instincts turned off the road and converged on the field.   A bullet dropped another one and Fred saw a figure pop up from the tall grass and start running. A collective moan escaped from the zombies and they began to shuffle a little faster. But unless the breather tripped, broke both legs and fell asleep, he'd be fine -- for now.
Fred got up and started limping toward Exit 14. It would be another hour or so before he reached the airport. Most of the zombies were still on the road. After taking into account the ones that had left to chase the gunman and Fred's two undead groupies - now just dead -- he figured there would be plenty of brains for everyone when they got there. Fred was... well, he was -- I'm happy!  As he shambled down the turnpike, he began humming a song that was popular before he turned. In his mind, it was a happy, catchy tune. But when he hummed it, it sounded a lot like "Braaiinnss . . .”

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Jenny's Journal Sept. 6

Found staked to the chest of female zombie, still undead, Elmira, New York.

Jenny’s Journal, Sept. 6

Unbelievable!  Mother finally gets out of bed and now we’re being told we have to stay in the house!  I love mom, but a week in this house with her lying in bed with the TV blaring loud enough to wake the dead twenty-four/seven, is just too much.

Now Mr. Foxworth is adding more piss and vinegar to our coffee.  That guy always gave me the creeps.  He must weigh 110 pounds soaking wet, and with that 1970’s porno mustache and greasy black hair – oy!   He reminds me of a gay scare crow  Mr.  Big Shot thinks being president of the condo association makes him royalty.  He’s been bitching about the flamingos and garden gnomes on mom’s front lawn since Jesus wore short pants. Then that stupid petition, and now, I can’t BELIEVE what he did! 

 He kept banging on the door all morning, moaning and groaning.  Mom refused to speak to the man. She just kept yelling at the door and Mr. Foxworth just kept banging against it.  By the time tea was up, I was ready to start screaming myself. Mom kept yelling, shouting about fascism and how her garden gnomes gave this ‘shithole’ character, and how she was going to go out and adopt “101 gosh fucking darn Dalmatians!” Between you and me, journal, those gnomes give me the creeps.   I mean, who wants a bunch of little dwarfs laying about their lawn all day and night?   It’s not natural.

 Finally she worked herself up for a face-to-face and threw open the door. Foxworth was a mess!  He wasn’t knocking on the door; he was banging his head against it. His cheesy mustache was caked with blood and his eyes were glazed and unfocused.  Mom was so shocked she stopped screaming.  Then he… he bit her, right on the arm!  Boy, what a mistake that was!  Mom’s not exactly ‘small boned’ and she’s been known to have a temper.  

Well, let me tell you, after mom got over the shock of being bitten, she repaid Mr. Foxworth in kind, and then some.   She grabbed that crazy man by the arm and bit him right back and, believe me, it was no love bite.   But that wasn’t enough for mom.   She smacked, pummeled and kicked poor Foxworth all the way down the front lawn.   When he fell on the sidewalk, Mom picked up one of the flamingo’s and began hammering him with it.   I had to drag her back into the house.  A few of the neighbor’s were out and had started walking over.  You know how everybody loves a show!

I cleaned mom up and put a bandage on the wound where he bit her.   It wasn’t bad but he bit hard enough to draw blood (so did she!).   Now she’s upstairs in bed again, ranting about the condo association.   All this before breakfast.  Oy!
That’s all for now journal (I hope!)

Ttyl J

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Jenny's Journal: September 4

Why hello.   Let's see how a young lady handles the zombie apocalypse, by reading her journal.  Unfortunately, Jenny's Journal went missing and the occasional page only turns up ever so often.   If you want to make sure you don't miss anything, follow da blog and submit your email address.   I'll post additional journal entries as they turn up.   So, here we go.

Found stapled to the forehead of a male, approximately 35 years of age, Asian descent.  Both hands severed and found near body.

Jenny’s Journal, Sept. 4

Timothy Foxwood, the self-righteous prick and president of the Shadyfarms Condo Association, was over yesterday afternoon with a petition signed by nearly every owner, stating that mum was not permitted to have any pets henceforth. Can you believe it actually said "henceforth?" Poor Sparky’s barely stopped smoking and now this.  I can't prove anything of course, but I'm certain this was in retaliation for the hamster incident of '97 which, aside from a ruined table shot at the Johnson wedding, resulted in almost no property damage or injury. I'm sure it was mum's refusal to pay the dry cleaning bill or replacement cost of the wedding cake that stuck in Sarah Johnson's craw. She's the bride's mother and everyone knows she's been knocking boots with Foxwood these last several months.

So, a new pet is out and Mom is still beside herself.  She just lies in bed and watches that stupid Fox News.  All day today stories about people attacking each other, graves turning up empty, blah, blah, blah.   What’s next, a two hour special on how Kazoo and his invisible aliens built the pyramids?  Poor mom won’t even let me leave to get groceries.  Looks like another meal of “strange meat” sandwiches
L.   I’m going crazy here!

Ok, that’s it for now, Journal.   I’ll try to write more tomorrow, although if this keeps up, my next entry may be in crayon and written on a rubber wall!