At times writing this book makes my head swell up and keel over and I find myself morosely drooling into the keyboard, stoned on too much cultural information. General has to listen to me recite about buildings and events every day or I have a hysterical fit and I won't even admit the things I tell the dog, which has the supportive initiative of a yesterday’s cold coffee. I’m not saying I don’t learn very many interesting things about my realm, I’m just saying shoot me. Shoot me now. There’s only so many times one can listen to Video games to vent…
On today’s doggie walk (and you wouldn’t believe if I told you there were almost Styrofoam droplets of sleet on the ground in wee traces!!) Drej explained to me the rules of a doctoral dissertation. For about an hour I wondered what I would write if I had to write one – though of course I could never do it, because I write perky and dramatically even when I’m writing travel guides (No, really.) – but if I DID, I’d write about the underdogs on literature. Snufkin may not qualify, but Snufkin will get a tattoo, whereas the likes of Petyr Littlefinger in The Game of Thrones are a prime example.
Which reminds me. I need to eat and I need to shower and I need to see the last fifty episodes of Bleach that I’ve been slacking on. Oh, Byakuya… Oh, how I enjoy you stoically slash through villains and then pretend like you didn’t just die, defending you fragile little sister. Oh, those slate violet eyes. How I would write sexy stories about you, if only you weren’t my size and half my weight and didn’t have a disposition of an old granite statue on a cold winter’s day.