He’s growing up, one little thing at a time. Whether it’s how he now interacts with his own feet or how he tries to chew his tongue like it’s a piece of gum, he’s starting to become more than he was, more than just the weird little glowworm he’d been for these last months. Smiling and laughing and babbling and yelling. Not just at nothing, but at the world.
Chuck Under Microscope
And, bam. The CERTIFIED PENMONKEY t-shirt is unlocked now that we’ve reached the “100” mark for the PENMONKEY REEDUC… er, INCITEMENT PROGRAM. (We’re now at a total of 430 sold.) What that means is, it’s time to release both a t-shirt and a postcard into the wild. Here goes…
Let me be your birth control, those without kids: the first six weeks of raising a Tiny Human provide a lesson in small miseries. You have not slept. The pieces of your life — the schedule that holds your sanity together — has been hammered apart like so much peanut brittle.
Angry Robot Books is going to publish my novel, BLACKBIRDS. I’ll let that sink in. They’re also going to publish its followup, tentatively titled, MOCKINGBIRD. I’ll let that sink in, too. That sound? The one you hear? Not just in your ear, but in the deep squishy pockets of your mind? Yeah. That’s me. Screaming with mirth.
“You’re building the walls of your own prison. And the baby, the baby is the warden. Oh, he’s a cherub-cheeked warden, all right. He’s cute. Chipmunk cheeks packing love and adorability the way real chipmunks store acorns. But don’t misunderstand. He’ll run you hard.”
I fucking love the farmer’s market. Sometimes, crazy shit happens at the farmer’s market. Maybe it’s something in the air. Maybe everybody’s goofy on rhubarb. No idea what it is, only that it is. This is a story of just such crazy shit. It is the story of the blue eggs, and the bitch chicken that lays them.