Blog Till Dawn
So, it's 4:30AM, the new baby is inconsolable, the birds are beginning to twitter outside, it's going to be a long morning. What does a dedicated writer do?
Design another planet for the Cyclopedia?
Welcome, young Neal, welcome!
To the land of coming to full terms with every prepubescent bodily fluid (even the ones you'd forgotten!)
To a land of hazy, sleepless joy and soul-wrenching self doubt, all wrapped up in a gnawing sense that you've passed though an irreversible air lock leading from Polar Station Freetime into the icy wastes of Planet Daddydothis (render THAT one for the Cyclopedia, pal!)
Huzzah, I say, and brave tomorrow!
Truly our nights have been sleepless and filled full with fluids of the most despicable kind. Our morale is low and at times we weep bitterly and will not be comforted.
There seems at this point little hope of rescue. Oh, we shall never free again. Our fate is sealed.