prologues and curtains

I think I'm the only person I know who likes the spring side of Daylight Savings Time. It puts me closer to synchronization with the rest of my social world, albeit only briefly, until my body adjusts.

Anyway. My writing wisdom of the morning, from reading, is that it is extremely risky to have a prologue that is substantially different from the rest of your book in style, setting, characters, etc. The reader may imprint on the prologue and spend the rest of the book annoyed that you're telling a rather different story now.

On the other hand, the annoyance led to notes for a couple of short stories that I hadn't known were related before, but now I know they are. So that's good.

In another few minutes, markgritter and I are going to go shopping for curtains. I don't know about him, but I'm just thrilled by this prospect. I am beginning to see the up side to indefinite amounts of procrastination. In the house of the future, I will be able to program the windows to go opaque from one direction, or I'll be able to program the nanites to make me curtains overnight out of the Roomba's dustbin.

Of course, then my curtains will smell like hair and dirt and dog treat crumbs. Ah well. These things happen when you leave things to the nanites. So I guess we'll go curtain shopping.

Entropy

I was on the phone with gaaldine for the first time in 1.73 million years when, about a foot from me, one of the fluorescent light-covering panels in the kitchen came crashing down for no reason we could see. MEEP. It broke the last of the set of tall glasses markgritter's brother Dan gave us for a wedding present (though we still have two tumblers from the set), and it gave me quite a turn.

The sky is, in fact, falling. Reports not exaggerated.

Quick! (Or, y'know, slowly. Whichever.) Tell me something anti-entropic! Conceptually if not literally.