Farewell Danger Room? Nah...

I never did create my Danger Room at the apartment, but perhaps I can do that in the basement of the house once I get moved in. No, I won't have tangible holograms and I don't think I'll be building any fighting robots, although dad says robotics are easy and fun. I'll settle for a heavy bag, speed bag, and a poster of a robot (plus maybe making the door look metal with a big "danger" sign on it).
Still haven't closed on the house yet. Soon, I hope. Then, maybe I can get the internet at home and start some serious writing. Not that literary fiction stuff (though I'm not knocking it), but the action/spy/sci-fi stuff that comes so much more naturally. What can I say...
My mom loved romance (yack), but I loved watching Alien with dad. V was the big mini-series when I was young and impressionable. Dad's nose was always in an action novel or something, and he taught me to dissasemble, clean, and reassemble a gun while I was in gradeschool. I was born to write action and sci-fi genres.
I can't wait. I'm 30, and just now beginning the things I was made to do.
Hold back the gut-cord of a 50-lb recurve Bear bow for a while and just see how fast the arrow takes off when you let go. I'm gonna bust through reason and standard time-frames and do what I should have done long ago. I've seen too much crap in my time to be easily discouraged. :)
Farewell apartment; transition limbo-land where I wallowed in dispair over an old life lost. Hello house in my own name that no man can take from me.
After I get my first novel published, I'm going to do a graphic novel. That should be an exciting challenge. I'll do it before my young South-end friends, too. You hear me guys? Better get off your behinds if you don't want to be shown up by, not only a comic novice, but a CHICK comic novice.
:)
Good will to everybody. Don't let suburban apathy and social haze paralyze your arms when what you want to do is there for the reachin'.