Guess whose basement is flooding?

G'AWN, GUESS.

The question comes up in my head from time to time: what if, by some miraculous fluke of fortune, I wind up making more money as a game developer than I could ever hope to make as a writer? What then?

I've always wanted to grab some land, build a house on it, train a pack of murderous daschunds, and settle in for life. Me and my, shoootguuuun...la dee da dee da la la....

Oh, sorry. Drifted off there. My dream-hermitage is lovely, and it dovetails nicely with the whole typing-eight-hours-a-day-at-home thing, but it's unpossible in my current profession. Telecommute? Maybe. Hard to do with game design, where so much is sitting around a table, throwing pencils at a ceiling, and asking the eternal question: "Could God model a boulder even She couldn't lift?"

And, lan' sakes!, what if I meet someone and we want to spawn? What then?

This post brought to you by my Maine Coon, who woke me up ten minutes into sleeping. Ho.