Buxtry - Bingo Jones

Sometimes writing is like having an enormous lake in your head, and you want to get it out of your head and into a proper place for a lake so other people can come and go swimming and ride jet skis and stuff, except all you have to move the lake is a teaspoon. So you’re just sitting there frantically flinging water out of the lake with your teaspoon and telling people, “Guys, this lake is going to be so cool when it’s done,” but it will never be done. There is so much lake.

“Jesus. Low-Key Lyesmith,“ said Shadow. and then he heard what he was saying and he understood. “Loki,” he said. “Loki Lie-smith.” “You’re slow,” said Loki, “but you get there in the end.” And his lips twisted into a scarred smile and the embers danced in the shadows of his eyes.

— American Gods, Neil Gaiman. 

A nice clean version of the photo I put up just now. “No more Regency Silver Snuffboxes.” They are shooting it as I type this. And oh, they are wonderful.

Could you reblog this if you enjoy seeing your writer friends ramble about their wips on your dash?

reblog if you've officially outlived the queen of england

We were told to play this in a minor key, once. It sounded like the slow, devastating murder of a room full of geese.

B, A, G

B, A, G

G, G, G, G

A, A, A, A

B, A, G

“maybe this way the sallon will accept it, monsieur Manet”

IT’S HAPPENING!

Fruit, fruit…

Now I'm really curious...Reblog this if you're 20 or older.