I took a picture of him eating dinner, and he scampered under the hutch, abandoning food even, to peer distrustfully at me until I put the camera away. Then he ventured out and went back to snarfing down his meal.
In the future, I'll probably turn the flash off and just set the shutter speed slower when I take front-on shots of the poor, wee fuzzwit. I know I get blinded by flashbulbs at conventions, and typically the photographers there are considerate enough to ask (and therefore give me plenty of warning) before they pop them in my eyes. I can only imagine how disconcerting it must be for Hobkin.
He's not really as fierce as he thinks he is.
Playing with his blue mitt.
Skunk yoga.
All tuckered out.
Writing Stuff:
Received an excellent critters crit from
My muse made an appearance. I had a feeling she would. 2K words on the "Island Love Story" which is going in a slightly different direction than I had initially intended. Debating now whether I want to steer it back, or give it free rein to go where it seems to want to go. It's also beginning to crest over 5K and I need to decide if I want to try to fight to keep it at short story length, or let it expand out into novelette, as it seems to have a mind to do. I could probably wrap it up in another 2K, but I could also let it loose for another 5K or so. Ornery stories, acquiring a life of their own. Piffle, I sez.