We enjoyed a double-feature here the other day. In the morning we thrilled to First Hideous Creepy Western Conifer Seed Bug on the Office Wall and during the afternoon we were chilled by The Horrible Terrifying Spider with a Body as Big Around as My Thumb in the Bathroom.

Knowing that things often come (and skitter, and fly, and buzz) in threes, we waited anxiously all evening but nothing else appeared, unless you count the plague of small house flies on the kitchen window as the equivalent of one Mothra-esque insect. But, frankly, they were kind of disgusting but not very frightening. I guess B-Movies only come in twos.

Now I know what you're saying: This guy must lead an excrutiatingly boring life if he has nothing better to write about than what bugs are visiting. Although, you have to admit that Kafka did pretty well with the cockroach in the bedroom business and, a bit more esoterically, there was a very important, recurring centipede on the wall in Alain Robbe-Grillet's Jealousy.

However, some of us are selective in what we choose to write about in public. We all have different comfort levels when it comes to personal revelations. Some people write about what bugs them, others write about bugs. If I were a secret agent, or a masked superhero I wouldn't dare write about it, would I? I'm not saying I am....

We did finish the manuscript for the next Byzantine mystery and got it sent off, so that's something.