Hey man, you ok?

Ya, ya. Just feel like shit for some reason.

Wow, I hope it’s not contagious!

Nah, too much of a good thing I figure.

Out partying’ eh? Lucky guy.

I wish, No, no partying for this dude. I was working.

Working? How’s that a good thing?

Well, I was writing and…


Like I was writing, and suddenly I was was like, totally not just writing anymore.

What, you were eating a pizza and writing? WTF dude?

No, no, I was like totally into it. In the moment, subsumed by my own genius, sucked into wonderland… you know… actually disconnected and totally plugged in.

Dude, you can’t be disconnected and plugged in at the same time.

Cut me some slack; I told you I feel like crap. Fricking editorial police. You should totally meet my neighbour; you could have like a million kids and start a grammar nazi army and save the world from democracy and mixed metaphors and shit.

Whatever. So you feel like doggie doo-doo because you worked too hard and now you’re batshit crazy? Cause you were totally round the bend before this anyway; not much of an excuse.

No man, I’m not crazy. I just was so wrapped up in the writing thing I lost track of time and shit. I even forgot I was writing; it was, like, like actually being there. Really believing it, you know. And then I woke this morning with three horny trolls with mega boners dancing the horny dance in my head.

Huh. Sucks to be you. Unless you’ve been hiding some secret inner trollette you hadn’t mentioned? Still, sounds like you need to take a break: too much brain stimulus can kill. I saw a thing on Discovery. Maybe chill out and do something real for once.

Uh, ya. Suppose you might be having a point there…

But if I part my hair right it covers it.

…but the fans dude, what about the the fans?

Right. The fans. The ones who are all into horny mega trolls and shit.

Screw you. If you ever read anything other than the instructions on the condom box you’d know I don’t do fantasy shit. I keep that simplistic shit for you, you pinheaded imbecile.

Sticks and stones fucker… I can beat your head in with either.

Whatever. I’m going back to bed. I’ll write something tomorrow.

Have fun. Enjoy the trolls. Try not to grunt too loud.

Fuck you too. See ya.



Wow. Is that strike four? I am starting to wonder whether just reverting to beaver–bunny relations might be the easier route. I mean, I can keep the overlord of time stuff but just go back to a traditional(-ish) narrative. With the gore of course. Definitely need more gore …

The gravely wounded sub-lieutenant lay sprawled in a pool of his own rapidly cooling blood and tried to hold in the pulsating tendrils of his intestines while his rapidly dimming eyes followed the gore-soaked figure of his lord and master about the room.
“My …. my lord …,” he croaked.  “I have failed you …”

“Yes, you fool. You have failed me. But I will take solace in the fact it is the last time.”

The blackened blade of the grimly edged sword raised high in the air, and the entrails and blood-soaked fragments of his foes slid off the slick blade and fell to the floor. Then with an almost invisible twitch of the powerful wrists, the blade severed the poor minion’s head from what remained of his shoulders.

The obscene, gore-ecrusted figure turned away and strode onto the battlefield once more.

“Fight, you bastards. Fight! Or I’ll see you all in hell!”




Huh. That didn’t really work out the way I had planned. Doesn’t seem to have much… well, any, “oomph” at all. Slim. And boring.

Maybe it needs an interactive cd or something. Just to spice it up. Oh, code: that’s writing isn’t it? That could count. And I already did this today:

<div id="menu">
<img src="https://ec-assets.s3.amazonaws.com/assets/306/sidebar_Glasshouse_logo.png" alt="Glasshouse bistro logo" width="265" height="58"/>
<h2>To Begin</h2>
<b>Fresh Pressed Juice</b> w/ organic apple, carrot & ginger
<b>$5</b> </p>
<b>Fresh Pressed Mimosa</b> fresh squeezed orange juice & bubbly
<b>$8.5</b> </p>
<b>Prosecco Cocktail</b> w/ rhubarb
<b>$8</b> </p>
<b>Bacon Caesar Cocktail</b> w/ bacon infused vodka & a strip of crispy bacon
<b>$9 </b>
<b>Mojito</b> fresh mint, cucumber, lime, rum & soda 1.5oz
<b>$9</b> </p>
<b>Local Yogurt & House Granola</b> w/ house-made fruit compote
<b>$4</b> </p>
<b>Bruschetta</b> GULL VALLEY tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, balsamic reduction & toasted baguette
<h2>Main Course</h2>
<strong>Quinoa Salad*</strong>  dried apricot, artisan lettuce, radish, soaked almonds, honey pomegranate dressing
<strong>$12</strong> </p>
<strong>Roasted Beet Salad</strong>  warm hemp heart-crusted goat cheese, onion jam, cold-pressed hemp balsamic vinaigrette, walnut & apricot crackers
<strong> $14</strong>
<strong>Saint City Salad</strong>  honey roasted chicken breast, aged white cheddar, apple cider vinaigrette & rosemary cornbread croutons
<strong> $17</strong> </p>
<strong>Egg Frittata</strong>
<span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> </span>
<span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> </span>w/ roasted mushrooms  chevre & caramelized onions  served with house hash
<strong> $13</strong>   </p>
<strong>Farmer's Scramble</strong>  SandyView Farms turkey sausage, local eggs & herbed winter vegetables w/ hash & whole grain toast
<strong> $16</strong> </p>
<strong>Eggs Benedict</strong>  w/ wilted spinach, hollandaise, potato hash & green salad w/ apple cider vinaigrette
<strong> $16</strong>
<br />Add Irving's smoked shaved ham
<strong> $3</strong> </p>
<strong>Sweet Crepes</strong>  w/ fresh cheese, wild berry compote & apple cider maple glaze
<strong> $14</strong> </p>
<strong>Glasshouse French Toast</strong>  w/ smoked Polish cheese, rosemary & apple compote, SandyView Farms bratwurst sausage
<strong> $15</strong> </p>
<strong>"Steak & Eggs*"</strong> Spring Creek beef striploin* 5oz. grilled to medium rare & served
<br />with potato hash, organic greens, Gull Valley tomatoes, bacon vinaigrette, topped w/ two fried eggs
<strong> $23</strong> </p>
<strong>Enjoy Bakery Toast</strong>  w/ preserves made from Hole's garden
<strong> $3</strong> </p>
<strong>SandyView Farms Smoked Bacon*</strong>  (3 strips)
<strong> $3.5</strong>
<strong>SandyView Farms Bratwurst Sausage</strong>
<strong> $4.5</strong> </p>
<strong>Potato Hash*</strong>  w/ house-made ketchup
<strong> $3</strong> </p>
<h2>For The Children (under 12)</h2>
<strong>Grilled Cheese Sandwich</strong> w/ house-made ketchup & Gouda cheese
<strong> $7</strong> </p>
<strong>Half Sweet Crepe</strong>
<strong> $8</strong> </p>
<strong>French Toast</strong>  w/ Maple
<strong> $7</strong> </p>
<strong>*Denotes gluten-free.</strong>  Please let your server know of any dietary restrictions beforehand, we are happy to accommodate them. No beavers were harmed in the preparation of this menu.</p>
<p> </p>
<em>Updated June 7, 2013</em>
<br />Menu subject to change</p>

That should be good … right?



Hmmm, I guess I should have read some of this drivel earlier in the planning process: blech. Ain’t gonna win awards with this dreck.

Maybe I should focus on designing awards for anyone who’s managed to keep up this long. A girl with a cowgirl accent? And can you just imagine what a sarcastic beaver would actually sound like? Two buck teeth will go a long way to making your speaking voice unintelligible, or at least add a lovely comedic lisp to the process.

And I’m a pretty sure I had a point in mind when adding the narrator, but that sure as hell got lost pretty early in the process.

Maybe I should study up on the DC world and do one of those famous comic book reboots. The rabbit can be a Rhodes scholar magically transformed by the gods to hunt down Loki, who because of his last and ill-conceived trick against Odin was punished by being turned into a beaver. Oh, this is good.

Gareth and Rowan are two master’s students from the Classics department ensnared in a complex plot to prevent Professor Edward from stopping Loki before he manages to save the day.

Ooh, ooh, and the weird guy in the tower (what the hell is that about anyway–talk about writing yourself into an incoherent corner) can be a lost soul doomed to act as gatekeeper yet secretly sympathizing with Loki’s mission. He was enslaved by Barney, a multi-dimensional being who encompasses all matter but has of late been leaning a bit too much to the evil side–much to the detriment of our local space-time.

So who does that leave? The narrator’s just gone: stupid idea to begin with. The incidentals can be rewritten as minions of one sort or another, and maybe I’ll get them some red shirts or something. That’s what the plot needs: a few gory deaths here and there.

Oh, Meredith. Right. Ummm, I guess she’s the mother earth figure: Gaia or some such. Not sure if there is a Norse equivalent, but hell, it’s my book, I’ll just make one. She can be the focal point of the evil Barney-spirit’s interference and maybe she needs to recover her magic veil or jewel or some shred of her all-soul. I’ll figure it out later.

So, now we know. A reboot. Good.


Of course on reflection it actually doesn’t sound like less work. In fact, it’s rather more if I have to go back and retell all first bits again. Huh. But … yah, I just did, didn’t I? So if I go and put an asterisk back at 1:1 telling them to skip ahead to 6:7 before reading further, then any new readers can fill it in for themselves and all you current lucky readers are good to go.

So, step one complete.

Step two: figure out how to do this easier. Well, since I’ve already ripped off the comic book guys, why not keep dipping my pen in their well. I’ll just write the words assuming in some later date that I can hire a illustrator to fill in the actions. That way I can get away with “BAM” and “Holy habitual habits, Batman!” and that’ll be enough for an entire episode. I’ll just set a conversion rate of one page per day, or even better, one panel per day and this will be simplicity itself.

Wow, sometimes I amaze myself.




Hmmm, maybe a recipe? Oh, yah, did that.

Well then, a poem. Nope, did that, too.

I know, a quick and witty reflection of what’s what in my life. I could even weave it … Oh ya, that was a cop-out, wasn’t it?

Well, it’s not fair. I’m not getting paid. There are no subscriptions to my blog. Where’s the cash flow, I say. Where’s the moola? I need a government bailout, some grease for my literary wheels …

Now that’s an idea. Maybe some Canada Council money based on my work to date. I can write some grant applications, maybe an award entry or two, and it’ll be easy street.

Who needs a paranoid rabbit anyway?

L.A., here I come!




The author sat perched at the counter for his lunch break and polished off a turkey-and-bacon sandwich. He had a pile of work waiting on his desk and a couple of long days facing him. As a result all he really could think of was a sort of pathetic self-pitying series of excuses about why he shouldn’t be trying to write. He already missed a couple of weekend days and was in danger of failing to keep the daily posts going.

Why did I ever come up with this stupid idea? It seemed so simple: just write every day. But then it became a story with characters and continuity — although he admitted to himself it was more usually characterized by a lack of continuity. Earl had warned him, his mother was against it, his editor was too busy to meet the stupid schedule, his loyal readers questioned the characters and it was summertime, dammit!

He had holidays planned, courses to take and summer boozing to do. There wasn’t enough time for writing every day. Would everyone else (all three of them) mind if he took weekends off? Or maybe allowed a few funny pictures with a caption? That had worked for Earl, and this was basically all his fault anyway.

And who the hell could remember what the damn characters were doing anyway? All over the bloody place and no plot outline in sight. He might as well be wandering through a labyrinth with a blindfold.

Not to mention the stupid messages and paperwork that were cropping up as a result of all the ridiculous levels of story. Or were those just dreams? Doesn’t matter. If I’m so far gone that I’m dreaming about this thing, then it’s time to move on. Take up sudoku or petit point, and realize that a writer has to think, not just peck away at a virtual keyboard in between sandwiches and at coffee breaks.

That’s it. I’ve decided. I’ll just start again; new rules, new ideas; I’ll just make this easier and it’ll all be good.


A description in 365 (or so) parts: Foreword then Forward

Foreword then Forward

The Plan
Well last year (actually this year as I write but likely last year as you read, although time is a twisty thing once you start to think about it. And now that I think about it, it may be a couple of years ago or even several. But perhaps this isn’t the time to get into it. Later, yes?) I cataloged all the books I read because Earl goaded me into it. Of course you don’t know this yet because it’s still this year and I haven’t posted the entry that will appear at the last possible seconds of the year. I’m not sure Earl actually realizes he was the author of such onerous and industrious tribulations, but it is a well-established point of legal precedence that he cannot escape responsibility through ignorance. Be all that as it may, I had once again decided to not put up any resistance to Earl’s overbearing oneupmanship and will commit to trying to equal his feets. A little bird has written me of them and while they, of course, seem less than the feets of Carmen Constantine, they are prestigious feets nonetheless. Let us now step forward towards the goal.


But alas, after consideration, this plan must fall by the wayside as it slowly has dawned on me that I have no measure with which to measure my own feets. Our — Earl’s, Carmen Constantine’s and my own — feets are separated by time and space (ah, there’s that time issue again…) and I do not believe Sylvia will allow me to separate her or Earl from those, oh-so-magnificent digits and my-they’re-so-grand extremities. But I’m pretty sure the Big C would have cooperated. Alas indeed.

Plan B, Mark 3, version 1.2b
After much pondering, mulling and general musing I have decided to buy a vowel. Two “e”s seems a bit pretentious (and while that may suit Mr. E.J. Woods’ megalomaniacal agenda, I am a much more modest sort) so I have decided to buy an “a” and thrown down the discarded “e” at the aforementioned feet (now diminished) of Woods & Co. and challenge him on the basis of his feats.

“Take that” and “Ha!”

So, by now you must be wondering just which of the many feats (because unlike his feets, he has many more than just two) of Earl J. Woods I intend to emulate and indeed, in all modesty and humility, attempt to surpass. Well, it comes often to many an Internet user’s attention that Mssr. Woods has, for the past several years, managed to post at least one post a day on his weblog: the infamous “My Name is Earl (J. Woods)”, formerly “The Bleak House of Blahgs”. Thus for both 2011 and 2012 he has managed (or will have managed in the case of the upcoming end of 2012 assuming time does not twist in on itself and disrupt a perfectly good linearity) to make 365 sequential and orderly posts.

I now announce my intent to match this feat.