checking in....

I am in Dijon. Apartment is sweet, Dijon is rainy but charming (what I've seen of it,already) and as usual I am already having Adventures (including proof that speaking a French-English-Italian pidgin can sometimes be useful thing).

Updates at some point. For now, I am off to find dinner and plot tomorrow's schedule.

Talk amongst yourselves, my children. Also,I'm not going to be reading the f-list so either say it here or send me an e-mail...

Because my brain wants to be difficult...

I started writing a story on the plane over that takes place a) during the desert campaigns in WWII and in a near-future UN-supported action likewise in Africa. Are these periods/places I am currently working on? They are not. Damn it...

He could see that the human did not understand. How could he? None of them ever could. He had sat with men in three different uniforms. Men who had fought on the opposite side,the winning side. Men who had fought in jungles, and men who had fought in bunkers, miles from where the blood was shed. None of them had ever understood.

But this boy, whose grandfather had been a child when it all began...there was something in him that echoed. Something that whispered in the voices of the long-dead.

My plan is to have it in roughed-out form by the time I get home, and then CGAG the hell out of it, and send it out by the end of September. If I don't get it done, feel free to yell at me...

Short fiction doesn't pay the bills, and sometimes I wonder if anyone else is even reading it. But it does satisfy something important in me, and that's why I write it. If the novels stopped earning their keep, as much satisfaction and joy I get out of them, I'm not sure I'd be driven to tell long-form stories. But short fiction? Until I run out of targets to stab at....