Those of you who keep an eye on my last.fm profile might have noticed (probably with alarm) that my latest iPod scrobble resulted in no less than 4 pages worth of Decemberists songs being added to my list of recently listened tracks.
That's a whole lot of Decemberists, and it's because the current short story is demanding it. The current short story wants all Decemberists — preferably the ones involving murder or suicide or death (which, actually, doesn't narrow the list overly much) — all day.1
The current short story, I might add, has already passed the 11,000 word mark and therefore has no right to be called a short story, particularly since it shows no signs of wrapping up yet.
One day I will learn how to write to a word limit without overshooting it by at least 175%.
- Dear Decemberists: thank you for writing songs which can withstand such a punishing listening routine. Although I won't claim I'm not being driven slightly — just slightly, you understand — insane by all that concentrated mayhem. Or it could be the story being born. You just never know. [↩]
