I’m about to blaspheme, so those of you who are of a sensitive nature may want to skip to the next paragraph. There are some questions that Google can’t answer. Sure, if you need to know how is babby formed or things Mil Millington and his girlfiend have argued about, you’re good, no need to worry.

Some questions that an author must research go so far outside what everyday people have to deal with, things for which a simple web search isn’t enough. For these things, I like to use… wait for it… Facebook.

Just think about it. Despite my crippling awkwardness and anti-social behavior, there are literally dozens of people who have nominally agreed to be my friend.They come from all walks of life, from the criminally insane indigents to the reasonably respectable.

Just in my small circle of friends, I have rustlers, cut throats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers and Methodists!

Wait, that last bit was from Blazing Saddles. Scratch that.

So, tonight, I was looking for two pieces of information. First I wanted to know whether a sitting judge could defend someone in a criminal case. I wasn’t having any luck, and then I realized that I had a Facebook friend who is a law student. Then, I was wondering what liabilities a law officer had for damaged caused in executing a no-knock warrant. When I didn’t find anything, right away, I realized there was a reserve officer in my friends list, and I sent away message two.

Now, I know there is a chance that I might get led astray by their answers, but even if their answers aren’t 100% accurate, they are still going to be close enough for the air of plausibility.

I was just prepping my submission to my writing group, my first submission in many months, and I realized I was feeling a fair bit of anxiety.

I went out on a limb with this piece. I threw some stuff on the page which wasn’t what I knew I should do, but what I wanted to do. I don’t know whether it’s good or it’s bad, but for the first time in many years, I am writing me. I am offering a view into my wicked little heart.

In the end, I think that’s what it’s all about, not just for being an artist, but for living your passion. You have to put yourself out there. You have to realize who you really are and become that person, at least in your heart.

Blackadder: “Well, the plan is cunning in its simplicity. Tonight I ride for home -…”
Wilfred Death: “I say strike now, while the iron is hot!”
Blackadder: “But it isn’t hot.”
Wilfred: “Isn’t it?”
Blackadder: “No, it’s just warming up. But, when it is hot, we’ll strike.”
Sean the Irish Bastard: “What? Are we gonna have to wait till summer?
Blackadder: “No, no. When the iron is hot.”
Three-Fingered Pete: “What iron?”

I don’t have an answer to this one. I’m just rambling, so if you’re looking for guidance, piss off. Well, okay, that was a bit rude, but you shouldn’t keep reading if you want to learn anything of value.

Every year for the last three years, I have contacted literary agents in hopes of landing “the bid deal.” As hundreds, perhaps thousands of other writers, I have been unsuccessful.

I’m thinking sooner or later, I’m going to have to admit that I am an acquired taste. And not an acquired taste like coffee or wine, more like that stuff your grandmother put on your nails to stop you from biting them, but you kept biting them anyway, not because you particularly like it, but because you were just that stubborn. Or maybe that was just me.

Right now, I have a reasonable offer from a small press. It comes with an advance and everything, which his better than some of my other author friends have gotten. I’ve bought stuff from the small press before, and they make a good product. There will even be some minimal marketing of the book. The only problem is the amount of the advance.

Now, I know I should be flattered to get an offer on this book, as something is better than nothing, and a lot of the books out there get nothing. However, I’ve discussed the amount with an author friend who thinks I could sell to a much larger market.

I have to admit though, I’d like to go for it. I like the idea of working with an editor, and learning how to make my work better. I like the idea of being able to go to small cons and sit on author panels. I guess I’d just have to decided is a bird in the hand worth two in the bush… A parable I always thought sounded a little bit rude.

This is just some dog. No one knows why it is here.

Times like this, I wish I took better notes.

I just started my rough chapter fourteen. My young protagonist is at school. I can’t remember what day of the week it is, and I can’t remember which class he has first.

So, now I’m going to have to go back through previous chapters and try to figure out where he needs to go next.

In a way, this kind of reminds me of those anxiety dreams I had in college. I’d wake up, and wonder why I’d registered for five classes, but I’d only been going to four. Then I would realize the final to class five was in ten minutes. I would go there, and I wouldn’t be wearing pants. I always found those dreams silly because that only happened one in real life. Okay, twice. I did alright on the finals though.