Monday, January 21, 2002
I am now a third of the way through the final third of Bast: Eternity Game. There's a nice symmetry to that thought.
I think that I've been avoiding this journal, not simply neglecting it. Writers quickly learn to distinguish these two actions. And this is starting to feel like avoidance. Perhaps it's something I never should have begun.
Sitting in my cold little room, day after day after day, thinking my dreadful thoughts into words, and then trying to make it all seem interesting. It isn't interesting. It just isn't. Hence that silly business with the filing cabinet. Or, perhaps, I simply have not yet learned how to make it interesting. Or perhaps I lack that talent. Or, more likely, I lack that inclination. I may have a duty to write my spooky little stories, maybe, if one chooses to believe in duty (which I do, though I understand this century has sent it entirely out of vogue), but that doesn't mean I have to devise amusing ways of recounting days that basically amount to typing, drinking copius quantities of milkysweet Cafe Du Monde coffee, typing, staring blankly at my walls for twenty minutes or more at a stretch, and typing.
And maybe I just need to lie more often.
If you haven't yet seen Le Pacte Des Loups (Brotherhood of the Wolf), I strongly urge you to do so. It's a peculiar, but beautiful and genuinely creepy film, and its source material, the legend of the Beast of Gevaudan, is close to my heart. Indeed, I wrote a short story that touched upon the matter just this past summer, called "The Road of Pins." Anyway, good movie.
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