This not writing thing is wearing me down. Sometimes, I think the only thing worse than writing is not being able to write. Sitting here and nothing coming out. Or, like yesterday, words that don't actually add up to anything. Nothing that I want. Nothing anyone else wants. I did write yesterday, technically. I wrote more than 700 words. I began one vignette for Frog Toes and Tentacles, an odd piece in screenplay format, wrote about 500 words and stopped. I started a second piece, in first person, wrote about 250 words, and stopped. Neither of them were leading me anywhere. Or they were leading me somewhere inappropriate to this book. So, today, I try again. I dig for the focus, the passion, the flow of words.
Tick, tick, tick.
Last night, Spooky and watched the first two eps of Deadwood. Wonderful. Really wonderful. Superb. Dark and gritty and engaging. Give it a try, even if you dislike westerns (I'm rather fond of westerns, myself). If only HBO needed a blurb from the likes of me, they'd have one. It's amazing how Showtime and HBO are producing such frelling good television. Is it the absence of censors? Can they just afford better writers? Higher production values? Is it just that they're willing to take chances on edgier stuff? Whatever. Deadwood is a joy. Brad Dourif is a joy, too. Anyway...
Found this piece yesterday in the San Francisco Chronicle, and it's always good to see someone taking Michael Crichton to task for his inevitably, peristently lousy science, especially when it's a subject where so much is at stake. I do disagree with the last bit, though — Crichton is a novelist, and he knows how to write fiction. If only we could all do so well by being so bad at what we do. For more on Crichton's bad science, check out The Science of Jurassic Park and The Lost World, or, How to Build a Dinosaur (HarperCollins, 1997) by Rob DeSalle and David Lindley (a curator at the American Museum of Natural History and a physicist, respectively).
Congrats to the winner of the auction for The Five of Cups lettered edition. We still have ten-dollar copies of Silk, copies of Murder of Angels, In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers, etc. Check it out.
Aigh. Okay. The timer says that's all. See you tomorrow.