Writer's block sucks. Seriously. I've been wallowing in a particularly vile cistern of rancid metaphors and aborted paragraphs for about a month now, a workout which you can thank for my month long absence, but I think I just might have put most of it behind me. Someone knock on wood for me, please. No, really, I'm not kidding. Do it.

I finished the first story in my German not-so-much-a-children's-book-anymore children's book about a month ago, and since then I have had a fantastic run of nothing. Believe me, it's a fun feeling, kind of like dispair, only more impotent. I don't want to sound like a pretentious, self-aggrandizing jerk (ie Me), but not being able to write ANYTHING is like having a limb cut off. It's completely disarming. God, I'm good! Christ! Seriously, though: it's like a part of you is cut out, sealed up, and placed just out of arm's reach. It drives you mad, though most of the time you don't know that's what's put you in such a foul mood until it's over. It's really fun. You should try it sometime. Or punch yourself in the kidney. Either one works. Hot damn, it feels good to be able to do this again! (Knock on wood).