raybear | Just a little lovin'.

I know I'm not really saying anything new or original here, but goddamned, Dusty in Memphis is a fucking amazing album. It's one of the top five albums I listed once that could be given as a gift to anyone, and if they had a lick of musical interest (not even knowledge or taste) they would enjoy it. I can't remember what else was in that top 5 list though. Oh, Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. (Did I do that apostrophe correctly, AP darlings?) What else?

Now to echo my protagonist: I want a cigarette like a motherfucker. I have none in the house. I would go across the street and possibly indulge myself, but I have no cash. I could walk a block to get money, then get cigarettes. But that's three steps, so it qualifies as work (the first step is leaving the house). I get cravings so rarely for tobacco that I feel compelled to indulge it. Strange, I know. I'm thankful that I don't seem prone to nicotine addiction, don't get me wrong.

I passed the 30,000 word mark. I'm almost done with this. I don't mean that in the triumphant "I passed the halfway mark and I'm almost done!" way. I mean, I'm almost tired. I'm tired of their shit not being resolved quickly enough for me. Maybe it's because I'm not exactly sure the best way to resolve it -- or more accurately, when the things I want to happen should happen. My protagonist is turning out to be less delusional than I originally planned. It's fucking things up. But I think even if I wrapped the plot up quickly it will still push me over the 40,000 mark. Then I can just go back and add some details and maybe a 3,000 word dream sequence.