I wish I was getting near the end of the story I’m currently working on, the crazy one, the one about the end of the world. And a flying pig. It’s been fun to play with it and think about it, and baffling to have it toy with me. For all I know, the story thinks about me too, and plots about what sort of nano-powered superwrench it can throw into my plans. But, you know what, story? You need to have a chance to mess with other people. I want to be done writing you by the end of the year.
Where are the …?