I had a weird dream this morning. I dreamt that there were writer loan sharks.
Apparently, when you get an idea about a book and you don't use it or even write it fast enough they come and find you and hit you in the head until the idea falls out and they take it back. It was very traumatic.
Evidently, I'm having anxiety about the stories I'm working on.
And then there's my kid. Corwin apparently suffers from the same misread malady that I do. We were driving to school yesterday and all of a sudden I hear from the backseat, "Inferno parlor! WTF?" And then a minute later, "Oh...funeral parlor."
Yep. That's my kid. Made him myself.