Sunday, August 24, 2003
Before I forget (again), please note that there's a new e-mail address for all blog-related mail (any questions, answers, inquiries, intrigues, conspiracies, dirty little secrets, etc.): lowredmail@mac.com . I am in the process of finally making the break with AOL, so the old Desvernine account will soon be history. Leaving AOL is proving to be a bit like kicking any drug: you know that it's bad for you, but it's so damn easy to just keep doing it.
As writing days go, yesterday was beyond amazing. I did 2,617 words in only about four hours. That's almost inconceivable. If I could so that every day, I'd be a much less grumpy author. Anyway, this buys me an extra day, which is probably a good thing, since I may have to take tomorrow off to see to various things that need seeing to before Dragon*Con at the end of the week. Or I may run my errands and then write in the evening.
Since Friday, Spooky and I have been keeping vigil over a female luna moth that appeared on the brick wall of our back porch. She hardly moved all day Friday and Friday night. Yesterday she moved from one side of the porch to the other and, unfortunately, to a lower position on the wall, within range of my cat, Sophie, who apparently did her harm last night, removing one of her lower wings. We'd talked about relocating the moth to a safer spot, but handling moths is always risky, and odds are we'd have done her more harm than good. Lunas, one of the largest and most beautiful of all lepidopterans, only live about a week after emerging from the cocoon, and females don't fly until after they mate. So I suppose she was sitting there awaiting a suitor. I should have moved her. I would not have done as much damage as the damned cat.
Last night we watched the somewhat disappointing Comic Book Villians. The plot seemed to have little idea where it was going, and the screenwriter seemed to have little idea what to do with his characters. It was sort of like watching someone jump from an airplane without a parachute. You know that she or he will hit the ground, and hit it hard, and not get up again. It's just a matter of watching the inevitable. Proceeding from a promising enough premise, Comic Book Villians tries to rely on stereotypes instead of actual characterization, and most of its grown-men-who-still-read-comics-and-live-in-their-mother's-basement humour fell rather flat. And it was a movie that sorely needed Steve Buscemi.
It is occurring to me that I need to spend less time watching movies and more time reading. Maybe. I don't know.
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