Even Lee Oswald said he was a patsy...in the mere 48 hours he had to say anything at all, before he could really tell us what he knew.
It was also a conspiracy that I didn't finish my 50 thousand words for National Novel Writing Month. This flu/fever/cold illness has nearly spanned two weeks and sapped the life out of me. I found myself writing some really dark stuff that made me want to run and hide from it, and I had to take a two day break to go pick up my mother's cremains from the City of Jacksonville Florida - and give them a check for every penny of the money that her lousy insurance company mailed to me. Of course she lied on the policy questionnaire, however after reviewing the questions I wonder who would actually qualify for one of their policies? And why did it take seven months to simply return her premium payments?
One thing that I think I've discovered though in this month of November is that I still want to take some creative writing classes, and I may have finally found a way to do that, online via a real university, and without paying them all of my earnings for one year. The UCLA Extension Writer's program seems to be legit, cool, and offers a certificate program - total cost $6,700! I can probably figure out a way to pay for that all on my own and work at a pretty reasonable pace to finish some writing courses that might actually teach me how to write the novel that lives inside my head.
Maybe I'll be a famous writer before I die, or before the dark ass characters in my head pay someone to assassinate me too. Hopefully someone will bury me in a tricked out coffin with an escape hatch. Just don't cremate me!