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Empty promises are being made yet again, by me to my .3 remaining loyal readers.

I am currently reading The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach. It's kind of awesome.

New feature: I will try, every day, to yell you how many pages I wrote the day before. For reference, one page is considered one full side of a page plus at least one line onto the next page, 12 point Times New Roman, double-spaced with one inch margins all around. Admitting the days when I write zero pages, and forcing myself to admit it to anybody who is still visiting this blog (or who hasn't yet deleted it from their reader) will be good for me.

I plan on finishing my novel by the time I turn 30. I have 267 days, as of today, to finish it.

I have disabled NetworkedBlogs from posting to Facebook. I don't know that it was generating a whole lot of traffic anyway.

Correlated to the novel, if I finish and send it out to publishers before I turn 30, I will be getting a tattoo. My wife has designed it. I will not be getting any tattoos past the age of 30. Despite being a college graduate, a husband, and a father with a steady full time job, I still feel like I don't have to be a full grown-up ever, but there are certain times when you have to draw a line. For me, 30 is a good cut-off for no longer doing something like getting a tattoo or buying an incredibly impractical sports car (at least, until after Juliette and any other as-yet-unborn offspring are off to college). No, my wife is not having another baby any time soon, so don't think that was just a clever way of not telling you something. Besides, we have to give some other bands time to put together a life-altering album which I will then listen to on every single major milestone in the second child's life (like I do with Arcade Fire's The Suburbs for the major events in Juliette's life), and those sorts of things don't happen all that often.

Yesterday, I wrote a total of zero pages.