Insert song title here

I have been busy and lazy again, and haven't been blogging. This is because it's been a month, and I've forgotten what it was I blogged about all day.

So instead you get 100 words and a bunch of random photographs.

The invasion of the zombie-dogs is COMING

“Where’s that damn tie!”

Anne emerged bleary-eyed from the bedroom, saying “There a problem, Peter?”

“Sixth time this month!” he groaned. “I’m late again!”

Anne’s lips twitched upwards. She said: “Well, hope you find it. I’m off back to bed.”

“I’ll have to go without” sighed Peter, “See you.”

The door closed quietly.

“I --” Peter stammered.

“What is it dear?”

“I’m fired,” he said. “I’m just --”

Peter stopped, broken.

Anne rushed forth. “Shh. It’s alright. Come here.”

She hugged Peter tightly and warmly. He collapsed in her arms.

Later, Anne saw the bin-man, and smiled.

Ooh, subtext! Deceit, manipulation, treachery!

I don't like it as much as some of the others, but as I said with the lazy and busy.

ALSO:

I discovered this obsolete and unupdated blog months ago - he was the one who set me onto microfiction. He is without a doubt the best prose writer I've seen on the web. (Beaten by Barack Obama and Yann Martel in print)

I'll share his "Tyranny of Composition." If it feels familiar, that's because I am a shameless plagiarist and cheat without equal.

When I write down a thought, I set something in motion -- something with a mass and direction and inertia all of its own, something that often starts taking me where I don't want to go. Thoughts attract other thoughts -- some of them welcome, some unwelcome, more of them unrelated or irrelevant. Composition is the art of putting discipline on these thoughts, of choosing them and arranging them so that one snaps neatly onto the other, and all flow as one. The best writers can make this process look easy, and honest.

Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I don't know why.