I’ve not been writing at all lately, so I figured it was time to start getting back into the habit. My goal is to make at least one entry a day, of at least six sentences in length, until New Years’ Day. Entries have to be made, if not posted, on the day; everyone is entitled to get on my case if I miss. I’m inspired by Steven King’s book, On Writing, which I’ve almost finished re-reading. I’m riffing off his reminder that you have to be available to the Muse every day, or you lose the connection to that spirit. You lose the will to write.
I’ve finished the Moleskine notebook I began last January, finally. I’ve started my new one, but my organization system suffered tremendously during the first few months of school. It will take time to re-establish. More and more of my work is actually on the computer rather than in handwriting, anyway.
On Tuesday this week I was ill. Vomiting, diarrhea, the works except for fever. I was still pretty weak yesterday and Wednesday; today I feel much better. We did have to cancel our camping trip for Friday night, though we may be going rock climbing this Saturday. It remains to be seen whether anyone shows up for it or not.
Lovelips came over last night. We took her computer in to get it fixed, and went to dinner at the new Thai restaurant in Putnam. It’s not bad. I’d like to make a regular habit of eating there, except that I find Clio has a way of interrupting plans, including plans to get a new Monday night reading going in Putnam, at the Victoria Station Café. Dave seems amenable, but so far we haven’t talked about what that series might look like. We also watched The Patriot, which was a finer and shorter movie on first viewing. In the second viewing, you can sort of see the creeping madness of Mel Gibson a whole lot more than the madness of King George in fighting the colonies in the first place. There’s also the beginnings of the buckets-o-blood phenomenon that achieved its final, gory height in Apocalypto and The Passion of Jesus Christ. Imagine that.