Tonight, so no writing done. Ate too much. Drank more wine than I've had in the last six months...which isn't much since I usually go for beer if I'm drinking with dinner. Had a nice sweet port for an aperitif. And now feel so satiated and lazy...and a bit tipsy...I just want to stretch long and hard like one of the office Himalayans and curl up to go to sleep. Guess I'll never make it as an alcoholic writer...so there go Hemingway, Faulkner and Fitzgerald as mentors. Tolstoy didn't drink, I don't think, but he had a bad marriage so I guess that can make up for it. "Bad Romance," a la Russkie.
It was a nice dinner, though, and my supervisors want me to stay on till the end of February, at least. And I guess I will. The positive thing about Buffalo is, it keeps me from getting sidetracked by all the attractions going on...'cause the ones they got don't even begin to interest me. Toronto does, and I like Niagra Falls for some weird reason, but everything else is just -- meh.
I have so many ideas for stories coming to me lately, not a one of them set in Buffalo. Which is unusual for me. Winter in Detroit brought me "5 Dates." A trip to Paris brought me "Delay En Route." I went to Seattle to firm up "Bugzters" in my head and to Ireland for "Darian's Point," "Return to Darian's Point" and "Wide New World" -- not to even mention "Place of Safety." In Houston I worked up "Day Trip", "Brand of Justice", "Mine to Kill" and "Cutting Edge." In Austin, I built "Coby O' and the Pink Palace of Texas." "Kazn" was inspired by a friendship with an actor from The Ukraine. The list goes on and on. But nothing from Buffalo, yet...though the Erie Canal is lurking in the background so maybe that'll be it.
Of course, nothing's happening till I have a solid first draft of POS. Which may be part of the reason for my lack of inspiration. Ah...the joys of being a creative, self-involved twit. I'm lovin' it.
But then I'm also a bit drunk, so tomorrow is NOT gonna be a fun day.