I just burnt through the Semi-Louise I've got programmed into Media Player, and now we're onto Old Lenny Cohen. I finished off the Semi-Lemmy with "Boom or Bust," the song that Steph and I turned into a music video, once, with hours-and-hours of driving around, dealing with actors, technical camera difficulties, me muttering obscenities under our breath and then wandering over to the Camosun Street House to drown aggravation in too much red wine (often opened in inappropriate fashions).
I have a letter ready for Joy, I'll be sending it in the Post tomorrow morning. I still want to type one, though, my handwriting's shit if I try to do too much over a long time.
Word count's at 5777, midway through a scene, the flashback's in there but it was shite, I swear, absolute shite, but I'm still going. I'll be writing at the Vietnamese place with Christian and Dan tonight, Christian probably working on grading papers and Dan probably working on his rants. I expect to have a much headier flow than the last time we went out to write - I was severely blocked at the time, but it seems to be coming quite well (trickling at times, or fast-and-furious), although certain mechanical issues have cropped up, like the proper hand positioning to fire a shotgun (or rather, the improper positioning). I'm bring Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber with, for inspiration. Her dripping verbal swelling does wonders for my brain.
Anyway! Unto the night I must go, now, bundled up in toque and coat, with too many commas and a cold in my sinuses and it's occasionally a miracle that I'm not single, what with the stupendous bodily snot issues that so often consume my life. Damnable biology!