If McCartney can go platinum with "whoa whoa whoa my love does it good," I don't have much excuse

I used to think that not having topics to write about was the universal problem with being a songwriter. I've since learned that this is true only if your friends don't actually know that you write songs. Once the word is out, the problem becomes having topics to write about that are actually yours. This, anyway, is how I quasi-volunteered myself (at scifantasy's suggestion) to set the epic tale of the Great Arisia Barfleet Massacre and the Running of the Horta, and then got dared—DARED, I say—by cluegirl to write about magical counter-scrubbing beer-coaster shiruken cookies. (I'd chip in context, but it would only confuse the matter.) And yes, I could theoretically just say no, but y'know how that little gnawing vole of a creative idea starts nibbling at your backbrain? Yeah, that's happening. Sigh.

On the plus side, I fixed the page and a half I got written on The Noise of Endless Wars, so my day hasn't been a total wash.

This will NEVER get old

This weekend's Sunday puzzle in the New York Times is by me! *unseemly happysqueebounce activity* It's gotten damned good reviews in the crossword blogs (well, okay, the one), and Will Shortz kept a good number of my clues and only somewhat modified several others, which is always heartening. If you can't get today's paper you can see the thing here; be warned, however, that the page includes the answer. If you're a Times subscriber and use the Across Lite software, you can also download the puzzle for solving here, or pick up the PDF here.

Did I mention the squeeing? Yeah, I don't anticipate this feeling ever going away.