I edited Saturday's pages from Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye, and then I sat and stared at the iMac's screen for, well, I don't know. A long time. But whatever comes next would not show itself to me. And in the empty space left by the absence of writing, self doubt began to accumulate. Am I writing a book I shouldn't be writing? Is this going to be a disaster? Has my desire to write something genuinely different from all I have written before only led me into a cage? Those sorts of questions.
All the while, these two guys sat on my desk and stared at me:
Ignatius (left) and Sweet William (right)
And finally, Spooky came into my office, and we talked about the book, and the characters, and why I was having so much trouble. Maybe that helped. Maybe it didn't. I don't yet know. But nothing new was written, except for the aforementioned edits. Finally, at about 5 p.m., I'd had enough and read "Ashputtle, or the Mother's Ghost: Three Versions of One Story" (1987) by Angela Carter and "The Women" (1948) by Ray Bradbury (from the fine new subpress edition of I Sing the Body Electric!; thank you, Bill). I wanted to read something by Shirley Jackson, but after those two stories, my eyes were burning too badly. I don't know why I can stare at the computer or television without eye pain, but reading gets me almost immediately. Instead of Shirley Jackson, I had a hot bath and finally got warm. I ate a can of ravioli. I suppose some people might have called that lunch. I puttered about the house, and I stared out at ugly, unmelted clumps of snow. I got an email from Jessica and Rogue that I need to answer. An aimless, randomness seemed to hang over the day. Spooky got takeaway "urban food logs" for dinner (a euphemism for burritos I stole from docbrite).
After dinner, I finished editing a transcript from a recent Second Life Dune roleplay. You can read it here, if you're up for such a thing. The part of Shahrazad is played by me. Then Spooky and I watched what was surely one of the absolute worst movies I have ever had the misfortune to sit all the way through. I admit I have not chronicled the film-making career of Ulli Lommel, and only knew him from his somewhat effective 1973 Die Zärtlichkeit der Wölfe (The Tenderness of Wolves). Anyway, the Ulli Lommel film we watched last night was Zombie Nation (2004), and, well, I'm still a little amazed we sat through all 81 minutes of the thing. The whole mess appeared to have been filmed in a warehouse, there was no evidence of a script, and no one actually bothered to act. The zombie makeup consisted of smudged eyeliner. At the very end, say the last three minutes, the film seemed to decide it must be a comedy, because what the hell else could it be. And Lionsgate is actually distributing this drek. Anyway, after that, there was a little more Second Life, as I struggled to avoid sleep for as long as possible.
Please have a look at the current eBay autions. Danke.
I have a dentist appointment tomorrow in Birmingham, but I doubt I'll make it. I just don't see that happening. When I am toothless, someone remind me of my indifference.
Okay. Coffee, and the platypus is sharpening hisherit's spurs, and Sweet William and Iggy are staring at me.