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Winter is coming? WTF?

Why is it so cold? Where the fuck is my English-literature mandated seasons of mists and mellow wossnames? This is just disgraceful - I'm supposed to have some time to plant extra basil before it gets too cold. This can only end in ice zombies.

And I'm grumpy. Cigarette craving has suddenly resurfaced out of nowhere, even though it's been gone for days, miraculously while I'm writing a book set in the 1920s when everyone smoked like laboratory beagles. There's no way I can make everyone non-smokers because it's 1925 and fags were good for you! They didn't even give you cancer back then! Yay! I've got one character who is a fanatical non-smoker but she's right in all the wrong ways - she thinks smoking 'pollutes the etheric plane' and prevents you from communicating with ghosts. Maybe that's why I've never seen one.

Comments

( 1 monkey screech — Screech at me )
mq_musings
Aug. 31st, 2011 01:43 pm (UTC)
Yes. That's clearly why you've never seen a ghost. Let's go with that.
( 1 monkey screech — Screech at me )