Set Fire To Wet Wood
And what you get is smoke. Lots of it.
First order of business: hello to a fan. I hear Ellen over at B & J Metal Fab is a big fan, and that she reads my blog religiously. Hello, Ellen! Let the DHM know if you need any books signed. It’s the least I can do for such a great Reader. *grin* The DHM laid odds that you’d faint if I mentioned you in my blog, so be sure to let him know whether you’ve lost consciousness or not. *bigger grin*
Next up: WHY DOES MY MUSE TORTURE ME SO? I keep getting to 20-30K on the fifth Valentine book and then having to throw the damn thing out because the characters get bloody stubborn. It’s enough to make a writer go looking for the Muse with a mallet. The b!tch needs to get her pretty little bum in gear. I’ve got a bloody deadline for this book and I already feel late because I like to be ahead of deadline. Way ahead of deadline. I couldn’t care less if I’m behind on my own doctor’s appointments (I hate doctors, but I take the kids religiously) but being less than a few months early on a deadline just kills me.
I’m built funny that way.
Both the Princess and the Little Prince are sniffly and mucusy today. Gods bless Triaminic. I’m not feeling a hundred percent myself, but the vitamins B and C seem to be helping. I don’t want to miss tango or shooting tonight–I think I want to venture into downtown Portland and get some more shots. Don’t worry–the Sullen Teenager probably won’t let me go alone. He seems to think I’m in some kind of danger in rough neighborhoods alone at night. When I point out that I don’t carry any cash and I’m too pudgy to be considered attractive, he just snorts. I don’t know what he thinks a gangly sixteen-year-old will do to deter anyone seriously set on mayhem or my camera, but the DHM feels better when someone is out with me after dark and so does Sixten (aka Monk) So I guess I’ll drag Sullen Teen along, unless he’s a sickie. In which case it’s tango and shooting by my own sweet self, and damn all the torpedoes. I was hanging out on Yesler in Seattle when I was much younger, not to mention University Avenue back when it was a rough part of town, mecca for the homeless before the urban renewal.
In other news, I am listening to Blue October‘s latest over and over and over again. (look out, that’s their MySpace page. Sorry about that.) It’s called Foiled, and it’s chock-full of Muse crack. (The girl is gulping it down.) Especially track 5, titled Hate Me.
I’m sober now for 3 whole months it’s one accomplishment that you helped me with
The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won’t touch again
In my sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
So I’ll drive so f****g far away that I never cross your mind
And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind
Oh. My. God. The whole song makes me think of a private investigator, some of whose jobs are more interesting than others, and the dame he has trouble not loving. It’s also filling up the well that gives birth to both the Valentine and Kismet stories. (ooh, more about that later, I am so excited…)
Ah, the Little Prince has perked up. He’s making interesting hooting noises out the front door like a baboon. Gods love my children.
Last night we watched Psycho and The Omen–the originals, both. Anthony Perkins and Gregory Peck, what a pair! Perkins was wonderful, and I’d never seen the whole movie all the way through–just clips. The Omen was of course a classic, but it irritated me almost beyond bearing. I love a Richard Donner movie, and I adore Gregory Peck (Atticus Finch was my first movie love) but the idea that God would ask a man to kill a five-year-old boy rubbed me the wrong way. If I’d been Ambassador Thorn I would have sat the kid down and said, “Look, I know you’re a bit weird. But I’m your dad, I’ve changed your diapers, and I love you. So quit killing people, will you? How about we go to Hawaii and learn to surf instead?” Chances are Damien would have agreed.
But then there would have been no movie. Some of the imagery in the film is chilling, I’ll give it that. But we MST3K’d it so hard I’m surprised the DVD isn’t scorched. Ah well. Classics sometimes get a little less…classic.
Oh, last thing. I got some BPAL the other day. The scents are: Chuparosa, Harlot, Bordello, and Seraglio, plus a whole clutch of imps. After the Selkie and the Kiwi go through the imps, I might start reviewing them like Jess Hartley does. That’s such a good idea. The DHM won’t let me smelly him up (all that stuff makes him sneeze) but the Sullen Teenager actually enjoys being fussed over and bedecked with sniffies. He’s a strange child.
Whoops! Really last thing, I promise. There are upcoming giveaways, since I have my Cloud Watcher and Dead Man Rising author’s copies now.
That is all. I promise.
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