I keep flirting with the idea of writing horror or sci-fi or swords or or or - and my stories always end up in some sort of vampire-y alien-y conan-y viking-y same as, same as. The only thing they all have in common is rabbit fur and then I feel like all Watership Down… I curse my complete lack of original ideas. Except today, where ideas, like Elvis, have left the building.

Thank you.

You’re beautiful.