New upstairs neighbor, and she arrived with three dogs, and every morning right before 5 a.m. all three go ape shit. As a result, I am woefully under slept. Painfully under slept. The bark almost all day long, but it's the dawn-thirty shit that's wrecking me. I was able to get 1,142 words written this morning on "Strandling." That was it. I have far too much other work to be rendered insensible by yapping fucking dogs.
This afternoon's movie was Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk (2017), which I believe is one of the two best war films of the last decade. There is simply nothing about the film I do not adore. It is sublime. Tomorrow I'm watching Sam Mendes' 1917 (2019) for the third or fourth time. It is the film I would argue is the other most accomplished war film of the last ten years.
I am considering reviving the idea of Aunt Beast's Salt Marsh Home Companion, a project I conceived of in 2012, a podcast sort of thing that almost happened, but I was struggling with the endless hell of Dark Horse Comics and the Quinn novels, and ABSMHC was one of many cool ideas sacrificed on the altar of that awful, awful fucking year. But yes, I am thinking of reviving it as a twice-monthly podcast, mostly me reading published stories and novels and excerpts from works in progress, maybe taking questions from readers, maybe throwing in some paleontology. I want very much to do it. We'll see.
Oh, and there's still time before the dread 57th birthday to have a look at my Amazon wishlist. Thank you.
I leave you with this creepy photo Spooky took.
Sleepless in Alabama (the "Make Me" State),
4:40 p.m. (Sunday)