And I bought one. Smells like the sea, supposed. I got it at the bible shop. I got one of those, too. a basic one, like, I seek a basic bible. Because I'm a writer and the like.
This post should be my first thing in the morning, I know, but running was my first thing, except that it wasn't this morning, because I was in mourning.
What about? I refuse to remember. I have a deadline at midnight tonight that I can't make. But perhaps I can solve a continuity issue before then. It's a matter of making things convincing for my readers. I'd be done but backtrack,backtrack,backtrack. I don't think I could live without Alan's joy but his joy is kind of in the way. I have another screening tonight...I'm lonely as all hell. Haven't had a good conversation in weeks. I cracked yesterday and actually called a ton of people. Didn't end very well. I do not. belong. in college.
People make their own tragedies. They really do. It's not a real thing, tragedy. People make up this idea tragedy as an excuse to avoid effort at happiness. So I refuse to say that I am living tragedy. Except that there is tragedy in my face, because it belongs to most of the people around me.
I have an issue more pressing: How to get from one point to the next.
In film, a "summary relationship" occurs when time within the context of the story exceeds the actual screen time. Happens in montages, happens a lot actually, since films are usually a couple of hours. I need to do this in narrative, but I suck at it. Especially because I actually don't want the reader to know how much time is passing. They have to be just as shocked as pretty princely protag.
I have to be at my screening in fifteen minutes. I need to learn the thing named script writing. Alan says make more posts later, techno-wise. Every seen a muse so sweet? This week he confused "lacquer" with "liqueur" in his speech. I'll make storybooks and movies. He'll make songs and pottery, he's thinking. Maybe I'll get married and build-a-home.