When the Rudyards cease from Kipling, and the Haggards Ride no more

[desperance]

Ought I to be worried, that the most creative thing I've written today was a letter of complaint? (Finally, I get around to clue-by-fouring my bank, formerly the light of my eye, now a pit of black despair...)

To be fair to myself, I did also post to several blogs and read through Kipling-on-Mars. Which I do still like, but it does still have no story. I should set it aside to ruminate, I guess. I am a ruminant of the north; I chew the could.