Teh National Novel Writing Month ahead. I bet a lot of you already know what it is. To those who don't, let's put it shortly - one month, one novel, at least 50 000 words. Wanna know more - www.nanowrimo.org
But I'm practising and my goal for this month is 25 000. You can see my progress on the picture.
Still suffering from cold.
Stock account received a DD yesterday.
Fell under the attack of flamers for the first time in my life.
Painting painting painting. Real digital painting.
Actually - writing writing writing, since I need some catching up to do.
LARP preparations.
Work.
Stuff.
Puppy. Ohyeah, puppy. Damn loud puppy.
Thanks for everyone for all the amazing suggestions of sci-fi movies, books, anime and stuffs.
What do ya think, should I make a news article, too?
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Sta.sh
Theme
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.......... The design MUST HAVE ONLY 2 COLORS; BLACK AND WHITE
this journal 
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Daily Needs 
`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More
“A long time ago, by the Mississippi, there was a farm with a happy family and a lot of horses. And there was a poor black woman nursing the landlord's baby son. They did not permit her to go and take care of her own child. They did not permit her to waste any of her precious milk on her own hungry suckling. She belonged to her Master and Mistress, her body and her milk, her time, even her soul, if we have it. And so she sat, rocking the baby that was not her own and sang to him this tune, and she made these words, for she thought of the babe she had so far from her and crying, lone and hungry. He died, the baby boy she had, and she went mad of grief. The lord and the lady of the house, they thought she had no feelings, a poor black slave as she was, but mad of grief she went, going around and singing that song, all day and night singing. They tried to sell her off, but none would buy a mad slave, and so they let her wonder. She was no good for any job, so she roamed the fields and meadows, scaring people. But I ran after her, and did not fear her, and when she saw me, she would stop and kneel down, brace me and brush my hair with her thin fingers and sing to me. She would call me Bob and Bobby. And I would sing with her, because I knew that her son had died for me and because of me. I had drank of the milk Bobby never had, I had had the warmth of the hands and breasts Bobby scarcely ever had. Her body, her soul, her songs, I had had it all though none of it should ever have belonged to me.”