Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fiction,
or to take rum against a sea of ridiculous baby tentacle monsters,
and by imbibing, end them?
Yes, I am writing this thing sober because drinking alone is a bad habit and I'm not going to do it.
That being said, holy hell, this story. I have cracked 1800 words on it, and it is trucking right along. I have the feeling that I'm glossing over a lot of things that might want to be fleshed out later, but that's what edits are for.
"I bet our homeowners' insurance doesn't cover tentacle monsters."
Also, I love this job. You get to find out the funnest (shut up, that's a word too, Firefox says so) things. Like the fact that Smith and Wesson makes a revolver that fires .410 shotgun shells. I figured I was going to have to make something up, but nope, there it is, and I could toddle down to Cabela's and buy one, were I so inclined. Taurus makes one too. Who knew? I certainly didn't. And I certainly didn't think such a thing was legal--after all, sawing off a shotgun shorter than a certain length will get the ATF beating down your door. But the revolver is a-okay. Go figure.
Heigh-diddly-dee, a writer's life for me...