Not a cure.

[mrissa]

I'm not sure when I decided upon "drink some water" as a solution for everything. (A solution. Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to do that, really.) It was probably a few weeks after we got the Brita, at most. So we're talking on the order of at least two years. And you know what? I've had lots of problems in that time that have not been helped in the slightest bit by me drinking more water. Yet I still keep doing it: "I don't feel quite right. Maybe I'll go get another glass of water." Stupid brain! You finished your last glass of water not two minutes ago! "Maybe I need more." Water will not fix this book, brain!

It's a very un-watery book, actually. Very, very landlocked, this book.

I had a moment this morning of thinking, "All you Atlanta Nights people are hosers! You wrote one of the world's worst books on purpose. I did mine without even trying to be this bad!" I recognized this as a sign that I should put the book (metaphorically) down and back away from the book. So I started poking short stories very carefully with long sticks to see if any of them was the right short story to poke. A hundred words here, a hundred words there...and the answer is no, none of them was the right short story to poke, although I did have a good time with some of "Carter Hall Sweeps a Path." I have a feeling I'll be back to Thermionic Night revisions after dinner. Ah well. There are worse things. Even if it is one of the world's worst books. Because revisions will make it better! Or at least differently bad!

Hurray for differently bad!