Thursday, August 28, 2003
Over breakfast this morning, I was telling Spooky about the time when I was a kid in Jacksonville, Florida and my parents left me at a theatre and I sat through four showings of One Hundred and One Dalmations and ate jujubees and wondered if they were ever coming back. It's the sort of thing that if I were to bother mentioning it to her my mother would deny ever actually occurred. When I talk at breakfast, it's usually about stuff like this, so I try not to talk at breakfast.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,355 words on Chapter Eight of Murder of Angels. It was one of those cool scenes that I never know is about to happen beforehand (and if, this morning - still morning by one measly minute - my sentences become gradually less coherent, please forgive me; I slept too much, I think). Anyway, here's this witch with a .38 tucked under her sweater, walking down a street in a bad neighborhood in Birmingham, and a huge, fire-coloured wolf appears, blocking her path, and it begins talking to her. That sort of scene. I was rather pleased with it. Today I will polish it, but I doubt I'll write anything new, because I have a place to be at 4:15 p.m., in preparation for Dragon*Con. So, it's unlikely I'll write anything new until after the convention. I will go back to work on Tuesday.
The rest of yesterday was spent on costuming stuff, and then Spooky and I watched The Usual Suspects and then, about 2 a.m., we went to bed, ta-dah. Exciting stuff.
As for Mars, we had clouds, though we did get a pretty good view just before bed. A shimmering orange-white bead in a moonless sky.
You know, this post has all the ooomph of a wet loaf of bread, so I think I shall cut it short. My brain must be switching over to con mode already.
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