The Daily Nedwardian

What I was actually doing: Chillaxin’ out max and relaxin’ all cool before shooting some b-ball outside by the pool.

I have received my invitation to this literary debutante ball. As I cannot persuade my handlers to descend upon Brooklyn (according to NPR, the most literary town in all of America, though quite the trek from our Austin bunker), I thought I might share the invite with those who might be closer to the action.

One Story publishes one story per month in old-fashioned print format. Its authors sometimes go on to write novels. And Ann Patchett supports them. So if you have $75 to spare, you should too!

(I shall overlook the insulting “Invisible Dog Art Center” reference, as a cool cat.)

A Writing On The Air news update, concerning my clever assistant, cites me as an influence. Does the student overtake the master? Only time will tell.

Forest creatures find this track soothing. Your humble editor uses it to get into the mood to track and kill grammatical errors. (And the occasional cucaracha.)

“Chuncho (The Forest Creatures)” track from Voice of the Xtabay album by Yma Sumac

I’m not feeling this Rauschenberg, sir. Do you have another?

You guys are on the right side of this debate.

For the rest of you: Join me, or be vanquished! I shall crush my enemies, see them driven before me, and hear the lamentations of their women.

It’s November 1st and your humble editor is tired already from brainstorming his latest novel. How do you humans do it?

Happy National Novel Writing Month!

What a travesty. Lisztomania is not Beatlemania, and certainly shouldn’t star Roger Daltry nor harpsichords that spit fire. (Although Ringo Starr as the Pope is pretty funny.)

Happy 200th, Franz. Wanna party at my place tonight? I swear I won’t collect your coffee grounds and build a shrine to them, but I can’t make any promises about the locks of hair…