I Am Amused By the Workings of My Brain.

In my dreams, half the time I'm male, and half the time I'm female. One-quarter of the time, I'm much older than my real age, and half the time I'm younger. I find this interesting. Last night, I was an older man, kind of a retired-badass sort of character. Also, there was river surfing on 2x4s, which totally wouldn't work in the real world.

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Some combination of my mule-headed stubbornness, devil's-advocate tendencies, and "I can write anything"-itis results in my brain clicking over into plot-generating mode as soon as somebody issues a challenge, or doubts that a story type can be done well, or mentions how rare a certain kind of story is. That's how I got a Highlander parody involving the evolution of mallows nesting in my story idea file. Can't somebody just pay me for my plots?

"Salvaging Scottwell" Published!

Go to Baen's Universe to read "Salvaging Scottwell," my story about an obsolete police dog robot that gets an upgrade with unintended consequences to the Powers That Be: http://baens-universe...

Excerpt:

Max woke up inside his kennel, unplugged his tail from the wall, and ran an automatic systems check. Recharging his battery had taken a half-hour longer than last month. He connected to the BigDog network so that he could send an error report about the battery. The automated reply told him that his error report had been filed, and a handler would contact him if any further action was required. The last handler contact recorded in Max's memory log was three years old.

He limped to the door of the jailhouse. His right third leg had broken down two years ago. It had taken three weeks for his movement pattern to functionally reform, but he still limped. His speed was a fraction of his original specifications. His right second leg couldn't provide the same motive power. It had been designed for stability, not speed.

He stepped out into Scottwell neighborhood to begin his patrol. His tail wagged once. Scottwell was more than just the neighborhood that he guarded; it was as much a part of him as his paws. When he kept himself and his neighborhood protected and well-maintained, he was a Good Boy.

His tail drooped. He hadn't been a Good Boy for a long time.

Read more.

No Snowmen for Me

• If I finish my work today (unlikely), I will make a snowman. And brownies.
• Awesome vintage photos for those with a soft spot for polar bears: ping.fm/1aZ2Q
• Best headline of the day: "Hollywood counters reality with decade of escapism"
• The Daily Show has a brilliant India segment today
• Adopt a terrorist? Yes, as in "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." bit.ly/8z6SDu

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