Spent the morning working on a story. Working on introducing a new character, a traveling salesman/ pedophile with a taste for human deformity, which has put me in kind of an off place, just trying to crawl in his head empathise with him. I also got the luxury of writing about twins playing a thermin together, which was immensely satisfying. Regardless, writing unsavory characters always puts me in a strange mood. I feel perverse and unholy, like I did something wrong. Its hard to shake shake shake it.
This morning the crows were circling like mad in the mini-apple and it was unusually dark on my drive to work, which worsened my feeling of displacement, but in a good way, I think I'm ready to go home and write something immense.