I'm not sure I actually have enough to say today to fashion a decent blog entry. Yesterday, I wrote 1,086 words on The Dinosaurs of Mars.
Any thoughts on Sirenia Digest #19? I don't bite. Okay, that's a lie. I most certainly do bite. But I don't tend to bite here.
Yesterday evening is sort of a blur. After dinner, I had a hot bath, which was really too hot given the weather, and then we walked before the sun was quite down, and that was sort of miserable. We didn't even see any bats, just swallows, and a ligtning bug (only one), and a dragonfly. Later, we watched Werner Herzog's Cobra Verde (1987), which was Klaus Kinki's last film with Herzog, and one of Kinski's last films. I'd been wanting to see it for some time. There was a little Second Life after that, but hardly anything worth noting. Oh, while Spooky was fixing dinner, we lamented the death of letter writing, and I pondered exactly how future biographers would go about writing the biographies of authors without letters. It's not like email and "chat" and whatnot will fill the void. Online journals help a little, but they are not, generally, the truly honest sorts of things that letters were, and only a few authors keep them. I tried for years to keep up letter writing, but was defeated in the end by too many unreliable correspondents. And there are baby robins beneath our kitchen window
And really, I think that's all I have for now.