I can't think of a thing to write about, except that I cleaned out my closets today (even the linen closet!), and no one wants to hear about that. I dusted off a couple of old stories this afternoon and sent them off. I thought up a short story idea that might actually work, if I can figure out how it should end.
That's always my problem. I never know how a short story should end. Endings are my nemesis. Nemeses. Whatever.
The reason I cleaned out my closets, and cleaned my room, is because I just finished reading a book called Snoop, by a guy named something-Gosling, which is all about how your stuff and the way you arrange your things tells a lot about you. When I mentioned the book to Mom, she said, "Anyone looking in this house would think we read all the time, and do nothing else." Which is pretty darn accurate, actually.
Maybe I'll go on to bed and read.