I’m not sure where I was going with this thought about writing. I made a note, then skipped it, then decided to hurry through at least sketching out the idea. There are passion writers and there aren’t passion writers. Both can be good. Maybe less the former, but—no, wait. The passion is always in the craft, its how the craft is emphasized. Anyway, what was the point. I lost it. But there’s something very weird in how we’ve got more words written and published every day and fiction isn’t growing with it. Not at the right rate. Nothing fictive is growing at a corresponding rate. Escapism is in the delivery of the content, the more escapist the delivery, the more escapist the content. Or something. Oh. Oh, wait. Shit. Reality TV brought about the end of the world. Of course it did. If it wasn’t going to be reality TV, it would’ve been fucking sports. Anyway. Someone should write some good fiction right now. Not me. I have “Perry Mason” TV movies to watch before the bombs fall.