My Cardboard Balcony

Not a bad week overall. Writing is a little slower in terms of the TV script work, but it's still moving, and that's worth something. It's just not quite one episode a night anymore. Also, my girlfriend's going to be here on Sunday, and tomorrow's going to be a fun day with friends. Good food, drink, company, and Disney movies. There you go. Saw a show last night called After Juliet. Upon telling my girlfriend the premise of the show, she and I both agreed that yeahhhhh no. If you're going to extend from Shakespeare's work, you either gotta be a brilliant writer or you just don't cross the bard. And that's about it. Brief introspection this week. Yay. Writer's Quotation of the Night: Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing. - Heather Armstrong Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Breath by Belinda Roddie He’s shirtless and smoking as she rolls on her side. She hasn’t been able to sleep since he arrived, and now all he does is frown and puff away. She watches momentarily before leaning over. “Don’t,” he says. She pulls away. "Why not?" "I'm tired." He finishes smoking and breathes. She breathes, too, as if responding. They don’t speak, and they hardly move. She lies back, sighing deeply as if she were trying to get him to glance over. She begins to feel warm. They breathe together. It’s beginning to grow light out; they haven’t slept since they met and drank and romanced together. They merely separate from each other, break away and ponder and yearn. Then they finally speak again. "I thought about traveling," he says. “Where?” “I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere.” They breathe together. He feels chilled and calm, but she feels flush and red as she stretches. He expects her to suddenly purr as she becomes feli

He can't tell me. It's a secret. She can't listen. It's a secret. You can't write that. It's a secret. I can't read that. It's a secret. Walls of code? Must be a secret. Tax returns? Definitely a secret. Love affairs? Never secret. Bribery? Only secret for a little bit. Sexuality? Usually secret for years. Feelings? Only secret for days. True intentions? Always secret.