So this week I’m reading Trigger Warning, a short story collection by some guy named Neil Gaiman. You probably never heard of him.
Trigger Warning is a set of unrelated stories (plus a few poems), some quite short, some less so. I hear that one of them involves Doctor Who. I haven’t gotten to that one yet, but I’m looking forward to some timey-wimey goodness when I do. Or maybe I’m looking backward. You can never be sure, when the Doctor is involved. Anyway, for now, I’m reading a story about somebody who forgot Ray Bradbury. I’m not sure how one would forget Ray Bradbury. Perhaps a sharp blow to the head. Perhaps a run-in with Mr. Dark. I suppose we’ll find out by the end of the story. Then again maybe we won’t, because, after all, it’s Neil Gaiman.
I am losing words, although I am not losing concepts. I hope that I am not losing concepts. If I am losing concepts, I am not aware of it. If I am losing concepts, how would I know?
Good question. That sounds like it might be related to those unknown unknowns we used to hear about. Other things that are unknown include, say, what you might find inside a haunted house, like the one in Father’s Books, as in the scene I’m currently editing:
“Are you kidding?” Glenn went past him. “You bring us to a haunted house and you don’t even want to go inside?”
“Well, I mean, it’s probably locked …”
He trailed off because Glenn had already opened the door.
“Not locked,” Glenn said, looking at him over his shoulder.
Mmm, not locked. But it probably should have been.
Viscosity 