Man, it’s been a while since I wrote a comic script. I thought it might be a bit of a breezy thing to get me another 10K of writing, but it takes a lot of thinking! Spent a bunch of the day yesterday revising the shape of the issue, and got about five pages written (which is actually pretty good, given how much thinking I have to do). Going to try for ten today. *fingers crossed* I was going to go out and try to finish Christmas shopping today, but…
$(@*$
I am reasonably certain, at this point, that I deleted what work I had done on issue #5 of Chance because it was stored on a memory stick and I blithely assumed I’d saved it to a hard disk somewhere or other. The truth is that on probably almost every level it’s just as well, because if the single page I do still have is accurate, it started the story somewhere I probably shouldn’t have. That has not stopped me from spending the better part of 90 minutes trying to…
revolutions
I noticed a couple days ago that my yearly wordcount goal was a mere 300K. I’d thought it was 350K and that I had no chance of getting to it. But, well, hell, I’m at 264K right now, and there are 14 days (including today) left in the year. Pffffsssshht. I can do that. My walking goal is 600 miles. I’ve done 566. Pffffsssshht. I can do that. My reading goal was 78 books (1.5 a week, because it has become depressingly clear to me that I am not reading…
1187
Oh my God. Pandora’s Box is the Dublin Film Festival’s lead-in film this year. I missed last year’s Metropolis (which *kills* me) and I Will Not Miss seeing Louise Brooks on the big screen comma dammit. Ok, well, it’s due Feb 1 anyway, but I have *got* to have TPC done by Feb 14 so I can spend two whole damned weeks at the film festival if I want to! *squinchy face* Off to buy dinner now.
Nobody’s grand-dad at all
Yesterday wrote of a family bible found in the loft of his house. The bible contained a letter, dated 1911, about a young man called Harry Hoad who had just left school and was being recommended for employment by his headmaster. A bit of research turned up young Harry’s fate, which–as he was born in Britain in 1897–is precisely what you might fear it to be: he died in the trenches on June 7, 1917. wrote a poem, which has put to music, to, I think, great effect. There’s a…