I just realized that I haven't updated anything on my MySpace page in about two months. I'm geeking out right now, even as I type, and using my laptop to upload the new cover picture to my site. (I'm writing to you on the "big" computer. I'm totally multi-processing. Cool, huh?
There's just far too much to do in any given day, though. Especially since all I want to do is sleep. I taught class last night, and I think that went pretty well, though I didn't end up revealing anything terribly ground-shaking about the writing process or craft, we had fun. Or, at least, I did. Zach, one of my students, came up with a fun writing exercise for all of us to try. It's a progressive story, where each person writes a line of the story, folds the paper over, and hands it to the next person. So, because you can't see what the last person wrote, it can be VERY strange. Here's how mine turned out (I wrote the first line, those that follow are my students'):
On a dark and stormy night, he danced the rumba.
He fell down the stairs.
She stopped trusting her sister after the melted crayon incident.
Thinking the bottle was empty, I forgot to screw the cap on tightly; as a result, my skin is covered in permanent purple ink.
He realized there was a problem when his mother, glazed eyes, crumbled dried worms into the children's salads.
Her boyfriend had an "in" with the guys at the organ market; she could get hearts for cheap.
Loose objects floated around the room -- magazines, chairs, lamps-- all headed towards the newly opened vortex.
The walls seemed to resonate with the emotion Bill was transmitting. Could it be possible?