Okay, let's get the complaints out of the way first.

It's bad enough that the Tweenybopper has such a loud voice. I mean, I have a loud voice, so I can sympathize. But if she's going to take to making her phone calls using the speaker-phone, I'm going to have to put my foot down. I have my office door shut and I can still hear every word she's shouting at the phone.

This morning, I'm sitting here and suddenly there's someone pounding on the door. I mean, Keyless Joe moved out a month ago, right? Whointheheck else would show up before 8:00 and start pounding when no one answers their first knock in five seconds?

In my usual passive-aggressive fashion, I sat here for 30 seconds, letting them pound, while I sipped coffee and thought hard thoughts about the lack of manners and decorum that characterize our society today.

Turns out it was Alvin, stopping by to drop stuff off. I gave him hell.

I'm not at my best today, sorry. PMS.

I need coffee. Starbucks...I'm coming your way in a few minutes.

A burst of manic energy last night got the rest of the dribs and drabs of stuff I've written keyed into the story file. For anyone keeping score, we're over 37k words and 85 pages. Mostly dull.

There have been moments...when I forget "the story" per se and just write, when some good stuff has happened. But not many of them.

A Kind Friend has been giving me advice. Not about the story, but about getting in my own way when I'm trying to write.

It's all quite valid but I live here with me, you know? I've haven't figured out any way to kick me out, even temporarily, so that I can get something done without me standing on the sidelines, criticizing. I used to have the knack...I'd just go into the Zone, the Writing Zone, where I couldn't hear me nitpicking. By the time I started listening to me, the story was done and I was pretty much indifferent to what anyone thought of it, even if it was me.

Anyhow, with the assistance of said Kind Friend, I'm fumbling my way back toward the Zone. Last night I picked up a piece of paper and scribbled down a stupid but very amusing scene. Has nothing to do with The Story but it will make a nice interlude. For two minutes, I wasn't in my own way.

She will, of course, be made to pay for helping me. At any moment I may start sending her bits and pieces of scenes and demanding to know her response to them. "What about this? What do you think this means? Do you understand what's happening here? Who does this tell you the character is? How do you think he's feeling about this?"

It's a lot of work, being my friend.

If I showed up at my door and asked me if I wanted to be friends, I'd probably tell me I'd moved.

She's a good friend though. In response to a casual inquiry on her part about how I got to be so weird (well, she didn't quite phrase it that way), I sent her a three-page essay about my feet. She was very nice about it.

Well, I'd better go do some work. No writing on company time today.

Later: Arrrgh! Buehler just called. He got back to town earlier and he'll be in for a while this afternoon. I haven't done much work so far today. I've got to buckle down!