I was a teenage pornstar.

Since Tuesday, I put together ten new pages on "The Familiar" -- basically, a new beginning for that old friend, and I more or less mapped out how the new cut should go. I just need to sit down, and actually write it, and will once I hammer out one or two small details that keep cropping up during my readings of it. It's funny, in school, ten pages in a week was really good turnover, something to aspire to, but I look at what I did and feel vaguely bad there isn't more.

And I'm not crazy about what's there, either. Despite being written over a period of several days I had a real feeling the whole time of needing to get it out, needing to get the scene written, needing to make sure all the most important things were said, and nothing else. It's weird, and unlike me, especially since I know my penchant for sitting down, and letting a conversation take its time. Letting everyone say what they would say, how they would say it, at a leisurely pace. It's easier too, to go back, and cull from that the most necessary parts -- at least then you get some character with the lines, and not just exposition.

Patience is my problem. I just haven't been as patient lately as I usually am. A few people have run afoul of it, and for that I apologize. It's a very valuable thing, patience, and it's the one virtue I feel like my generation, the generation before, and yeah, feeling old for a minute, the generation after, has neglected. It doesn't come naturally to me, but I strive for it, and not having it agitates me. And considering an impatient Randall is already a semi-unpleasant experience for most folks, and agitated impatient Randall is bound to be even less fun.

I'm reminded of that issue of X-Factor where Quicksilver tried to explain why he was such an irritable prick: "Tell me… have you ever stood in line at a banking machine behind a person who didn’t know how to use it? Or wanted to buy stamps at the post office, and the fellow in front of you wants to know every single way he can ship his package to Istanbul? Or gotten some counter idiot at Burger King that can’t comprehend ‘Whopper, no pickles? ... Now, imagine... that everyone you work with, everywhere you go… your entire world… is filled with people who can’t work cash machines."

Peter David wrote that. Good stuff. I feel like David never gets his appropriate due. Yes, yes, Mark Millar beat Bryan Hitch with a hose until he started putting black bars around his pages to make it look widescreen, but that... people in tights getting at some aspect of the human condition... that we could use more of.

Speaking of comics, and since October is here with Halloween just around the corner, I highly recommend you go and order Eric and Dave's comic about one of my favorite horror rock outfits, Calabrese. I discovered the Modern Mythology guys and Calabrese separately, so every time I think about this combination a little section of my brain malfunctions and I hear George Costanza screaming "my worlds are colliding!" -- but in a good way. Help all the boys out by getting your name down for a copy today.

And that's two solids you'll be doing -- supporting indie comics and up-and-coming musicians -- in one fell swoop.

I'm not sure what else I'll be getting done this week. I've heard back from my client on the website copy [sort of], and I'm going to have a new book in hand to review either today or tomorrow. But I also have two freshly printed copies of "The Familiar" and "Trendsetter" sitting under my pillow every night. Which if I were actually sleeping on would be very uncomfortable indeed.