missista finished her puppy kindergarten class tonight. She and the other graduates left their, er, mark on the classroom. I am selfishly glad that the first housebreaking incident in a week or more was not in our house. And truthfully, even her wretched beastly bratty moods are much better than the wretched beastly brattiness of two weeks ago, or even last week.Someone did make Ista a livejournal, but I won't be posting to it. The attempts at reading puppy psychology would get too tempting for my science fiction writer brain, I think. (Some part of me thinks, well, then at least I'd be writing something SFnal again. Well, fee. Surely I can manage a short story, if I feel like that. Surely. And yet.)
(Not that there is anything wrong with being an exclusively-fantasy writer. Not a bit of it. Some of my best friends are etc. But in my head that's not how it goes, so I can't tell yet what will transpire here: whether I will settle into writing fantasy and not fuss about it any more, whether I will continue to write SF that doesn't satisfy me, or whether I will find some way to, um, revolutionize at least a corner of the genre. I don't feel the need to do this with fantasy, but I don't feel the need for someone else to do this with fantasy, either, and I'd be perfectly happy if someone who was not me revolutionized a corner of SF in a way I can't specify or I'd just do it. So if you could get on that, one of you? It'd be convenient. Thanks.)
