I’m at the library again today (first time this week), and our friendly neighborhood homeless man is in his usual seat, either sleeping and snoring . . . or breathing as Darth Vader would after taking a lightsaber to the junk. It’s really quite disturbing, and reminds me of the Stephen King story “Gramma,” where a little boy is left alone with his dying grandmother and her raspy breaths terrify him and light his imagination on fire. Apparently, one of King’s earliest memories was the sound his own grandmother made as she lay dying in her bed, and he mined it for that story (which, coincidentally, shares its ending with at least three of my own stories. Coincidentally, did I say?).
I'll have to compare the "Misery" file from yesterday to the one from today to decide how many words I wrote.
Sigh. I don't really want to do that. Do I have to?
Words Today: 1317
Words Total: 34,194
Actually, that's quite good. I think I'll do this again at least once a week. Until I stop.