Well, there's nothing too exciting to blab about this week. Oh sure, I could always find something to talk about, but the weather's been so nice lately even if I've been jerked awake before 5 AM because the sunlight is already breaking out.
If someone wrote a strange conversation for contemporary fiction, would critics accuse it of being unrealistic? Recently, I overheard two thirty-something year old men discussing Desperate Housewives, vibrators, and the practicality of minivans. Is that what guys usually talk about, or was I just witness to a strange conversation?
Last night, I was mentally tossing around a small idea that I thought would be good for a writing exercise. I've only been doing writing exercises lately--nothing serious. (The serious things, unfortunately, are still in the planning stages.) I wonder if the sort of lethargy I'm experiencing is similar to what other writers feel when everyone could care less about their work.
