If that's a hack, sign me up, baby

I spent the afternoon outside reading and generally being a lazy slob. I should have been writing, working on the latest short story, but I was much too close to finishing the Stephen King book I was reading and that took priority.

I love Stephen King. Have I mentioned that? I do. I don't like everything he's written; I'd worry if I did. I'd think I'd suffered a lobotomy. But nothing I've read of his has made me throw a book across the room while screaming, "OH MY GOD! NO! GET IT AWAY FROM ME! BURN IT! BURN IT!!!" If I don't like one of his books, I feel rather meh about it, but I don't regret spending my time on it.

Plus, he's a delightfully snarky and funny man. His interviews, his articles, the notes in the back of Nightmares and Dreamscapes, the man has a way with words that leaves me snorting like a pig and my spleen aching.

I'm jealous of him. I want to be that dark and twisted and funny.

I'm working on it, but you know how I am. Lazy and easily distracted.