The sun is coming and going. Mostly going. Currently, it's 39˚F, but feels like it's 31˚F. There's talk of snow by Monday. The sky today is not carnivorous. It's sort of moldy, which is not so bad. There comes the sun again, Messieurs Lennon, Harrison, and McCartney.
Yesterday, I set the novel aside, and it will need to remain set aside until after I speak with Danielle (editor) on Monday. I began a vignette for Sirenia Digest #94, "The Motel," which actually might be one of the "missing" portions of Black Helicopters. I only wrote 753 words. But it's good, dense prose. After Quinn, it feels good to be paying most of my attention to language and hardly none at all to "story." To it down and begin writing with no idea where I'm headed. It'll be a nice little vacation from Cherry Bomb.
Repost: Today we're beginning the BIG-ASS XMAS EBAY BLOWOUT. Lots of good stuff® for the whoever who has everything – except that. Please have a look. Thank you. Currently, there's an ARC of Pink Delicious, so you could be the first on your block. Also, we're relisting The Ape's Wife and Others ARC (because the nimrod who won the auction back when never paid, the deadbeat).
Last night, we watched Pacific Rim again, for Kid Night and all. What a wonderful, wonderful delight of a film. And then Iron Man III, which I liked quite a lot more than the second in the series. Though, I admit, I'd be happy to watch Robert Downey, Jr. open a can of peas.
My current film obsession seems to be John Huston's The Misfits (1961). It's one of those movies that manages to be fascinating on a frame-by-frame level, while never once letting you see the strings. I've watched it twice now since Thursday.
But now, back to "The Motel." No one will have changed the sheets.
Until That Day,