today is a day of listening to 1990s-era Madonna, wearing a t-shirt that features a kitten wearing a cowboy hat riding a shark that is vomiting a rainbow in space, and wasting the afternoon away.
I haven’t been writing this year, like…nearly at all. There will be no more volumes in the Love You to Death series, which I am pretty OK with. It was a lot of work, and it was a good run — and goddamn if the Season Five book isn’t jam-jam-jam-packed with awesome interviews and a flipping foreword by Kevin Williamson which still boggles my mind when I think about it — and now Vee and I are freebirds flitting around, looking for new branches to perch on. The shitty thing about not doing another book with that lady is that man, I don’t talk to and email her every day all day. (Miss you, Vee.) (I am going to iMessage you right now.) (Okay, better.)
It’s a weird place to be writing-wise, I tell ya. I started writing my first book back in 2008, I guess it must’ve been, and for the next seven years it was a writing marathon party. And now? What the heck do I do with myself? I took an art class. I hang out with my pals. I wonder what I’ll write when I write again.
Rambling blog posts without purpose seem like a pretty good place to reboot, right?