It's a boy!

Gender Genie declared that "Masks" is written by a male author. Yay!

Mark wants to know if there is an orientation genie and if the orientation genie might not have decided that Masks was written by a gay guy.

Anyway, it was a score around 700ish on the male side and 400ish for the female side, pretty heavily guy. I feel the testosterone flowing through my veins! Oh, the power ...

Meanwhile, I took a few days off of writing for Mother's Day and general head straightening. Maybe I don't need my head on straight for writing, especially Masks, but nonetheless it felt good to do things like housework (yes, I did housework on Mother's Day) and gardening and grocery shopping (where much steak, king crab and shrimp was procurred, taken home, and devoured.) Tomorrow, a day off work will lead to dancing, er, I mean writing, yes, I meant writing all along.

Sometimes writing feels real, but if I spend too much time writing, it becomes unreal. Every so often, the actual world I live and breathe in has to take precedence, not just so that I can remember how the burgundy topped, deep green grass flashes gold when the wind snakes through it, but so I can feel earth, smell sweat, and look at Jupiter's moons through my telescope. There is an actual planet other than my own that my eyes can touch. No book can replace or match that sensation of Universe. I have to be real. I have to live, and only then can I live to write.