It's -9 degrees here in Chicago, the Bears lost the Super Bowl last night, I have been in a writing funk, and the Bleak Late-Winter has officially arrived. It's so cold my face still hurts from walking to the coffee shop. On the writing front my mind has been filling up with half-ideas complete with half-titles, half-characters, half-mantras, half-conclusions and I have not even been half-writing them. It's that kind of half-assed literary life that will drive a brother half-crazy if he's not careful. It's not like I haven't been trying to punch my way out...