"The pen is mightier than the sword, and considerably easier to write with."

Tomorrow and the day after will be busy days. Lots of meetings and presentations, and very little writing. I'm okay with that, although I sometimes wish I could focus on creating rather than supervising. These days, the really good stuff is being produced by other people. I'm happy to be working with such a smart and creative team, but it'd be nice to have time to contribute more. Hopefully, as time passes, that will happen. Besides, I have my non-work projects to focus on, too, so it's not as though I'm not flexing my writing muscles. I am. With words. Written. By me. Yes.

I've been a slow and terrible reader lately. I struggled my way through Stephen King's latest dour opus (and they're really getting hard to read, now - what happened to you, man? You used to be great!), From a Buick 8, and now I'm trying to finish off a rather slow-moving and run-of-the-mill fantasy epic that I've been reading on-and-off for the past year, Memory, Sorrow and Thorn. It's competent, but oh-so-horribly-long, and slow, and clichéd...and quite obviously the work of a young writer - who later went on to create a really awesome series, Otherland - who hadn't yet found his feet. Did I mention that it's long? It is. Very.

Up next on my reading list is a whole bunch of books that have been sitting around for ages. Like A Confederacy of Dunces, Triage, and a few books on filmmaking. Oh, and I got the latest Discworld novel from my brother for Christmas, so that's near the top of my must-read pile as well. After all, I've read 'em all. Every single one.

Now: Fifteen minutes of mayhem in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City before bed. I have a lot of aggression to get out.  ¶ 23:49