Month: March 2003

Jitterbug Boy.

God I’m tired – been wandering about London with Fin today, half re-creating our first date – swap the British museum for the arty French film, and throw in a park in the rain, and we did the rest. Not by design, but a happy co-incidence, anyway. But I’m back in the flat, an hour to kill before I go to meet her after her rehearsal – just enough time for a shower and a whiskey and it’s down to work. I’ve got to hit this script hard tonight – nail the events to the pages and square it all in my head so I can write it up in the next week. Wish me luck.

Daddy, Daddy, What’s A Pervert?

Shut up, son, and keep sucking.

I sat down to write last night – the story I’m doing with Fin, for Comics2003. We’ve talked about it some, and the notes I had for it were “Scary Trees and Edwardian Costumes”, and some vague notion of riffing of Bronte, very lightly indeed. Before I was halfway done last night, I found myself back hurriedly away from writing an incestuous Father-Daughter relationship which had crept out of my subconcious.

As it is, my notes so far have, in caps across the top “A story about blasphemy. Pervert Sex in 1890’s yorkshire.” and, for reasons that made sense at the time, I found myself researching Mary Shelley’s short fiction, and the myth of the wandering jew.

Oh, and google image search doesn’t bring back any photos of hanging corpses.

I think something may be wrong with my brain.

Another Bag Of Bricks.

Shattered, again. Another weekend spent fiddling with computers. People mock me when I complain about this, and to an extent, it’s true – I like to do it. But, and this is the important bit – it feels like work. It isn’t relaxing, it’s tiring, and sometimes stressful. It isn’t how I want to spend my evenings and weekends. Friday night, I’ll reap the benefits of for some time to come, so that’s fine. And Fin’s computer needed fixing. But I hope to god that I’m done now. Next weekend, I’m doing nothing. I may not even check my email.

Yeah, right.

Restraint

I would like to point out to all readers of Al’s journal my admirable restraint in not posting pretending to be Al.

— Marysia