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Chilly Sunday

It's over. Done.

I'm free of secularized Jesus holidays until Easter, and rarely is Easter anything but gaudy. Gods, imagine if we had to endure a barrage of Easter music the way we do with Xmas music. Blargh. A month or more of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" and that awful frelling Easter bonnet song. But we don't. Small mercies.

No writing yesterday, which was to be expected. I should have written, but, instead, Spooky and I watched nine straight hours of porn, drank a whole bottle of absinthe, smoked opium, burned holy Wal-Mart in effigy, and spent no money whatsoever. That makes a nice story, doesn't it. Okay, so it's not strictly 100% true, but few things ever are. I don't mean true. I mean factual. But, still, it makes a nice story, even if we didn't actually burn holy Wal-Mart in effigy. Last year, we passed the day hiding in theatres. This year, I couldn't stand the thought of so many people.

I may try to write today, or at least I may try to fix the aforementioned geographic gaff from Friday, which shall require some rewriting.

I may go to Fernbank and sit with the dinosaurs.

I'm thinking that I should write the worst review of Daughter of Hounds imaginable. Remember that scene in Citizen Kane? The one wherein Orson Welles writes the review flaying Dorothy Comingore's atrocious opera? It has inspired me. Yes, I think I will do this, and I think I'll do it soon. I'll include it in an entry, then post it at Amazon, under my own name, as soon as possible. I'll be sure to mention that DoH is hard to read, and that I can't follow the plot, and that almost all the characters are "unsympathetic," and that the prose is too artsy, and that I'm obviously pretentious, and that, this time, I even drag a child through the mess, and that I hate when people write present-tense, third-person narratives, and, of course, I will not forget to tell you that that you should, instead, read a book by Writer X if you want good dark fantasy. Maybe I'll even accuse myself of plagiarizing from Kate and Leopold, because, after all, part of DoH is set in New York City.

Comments

( 4 comments — Have your say! )
setsuled
Dec. 26th, 2004 06:26 pm (UTC)
Gods, imagine if we had to endure a barrage of Easter music the way we do with Xmas music.

At least Christmas has a nice colour scheme, with dark reds and everything. I'd hate to hear the sounds of lavender, egg yellow, white, and baby blue . . .

Spooky and I watched nine straight hours of porn, drank a whole bottle of absinthe, smoked opium,

I only hope that's not what passes for Kid Night now.

I'm thinking that I should write the worst review of Daughter of Hounds imaginable.

Hmm, that might be kind of scary. I hope it's not a sign that they've finally cracked you. But it would be pretty funny to see the author people accuse of writing unsympathetic characters displaying such an insight into her detractors. Hopefully it would be enough to fry their brains.

By the way, did you receive the e-mails I sent you yesterday and the day before?
greygirlbeast
Dec. 27th, 2004 12:02 am (UTC)
By the way, did you receive the e-mails I sent you yesterday and the day before?

I think so. The two versions of Nar'eth & Tai'lah, right? I thought I e-mailed...

Hmmmm.
setsuled
Dec. 27th, 2004 12:06 am (UTC)
I thought I e-mailed...

Okay, I guess I didn't receive your mail then. That's interesting. Maybe try mailing to my setsuled@yahoo.com address or, if that doesn't work, there's always the old setsuled@davidbowie.com, which doesn't seem to filter a damn thing (it'd be nice if that was a good thing, for once).
sfmarty
Dec. 26th, 2004 08:23 pm (UTC)
You are a bad bad woman. I like that.

(Amazon tells me that Dry Salvages is in the process of being shipped. About time!)
( 4 comments — Have your say! )