So here I am, being a good little writer, putting down the needles and opening up the computer files so I can work on the novel and the play rewrites and that other thing. You would think the universe might reward me for my diligence.
Instead, I'm cowering in terror, because there is SOMETHING skittering around inside the ceiling light in my kitchen, right now. It is small and dark and I CAN HEAR ITS FEET.
I keep telling myself, "It could just be a gecko... It could just be a gecko..." But this is Texas, and when in doubt, it's a... a... No, I won't say it. I won't do anything to make that muther-f***** more of a reality than it already is.