20 Lines Not Really About the Bal Masqué
I’m sitting here nursing a glass of pinot noir, pretending to be a writer who enjoys a glass of something when they’re working.
But now I’m not really working.
I’ve just spent over half an hour searching for images of heart-shaped fletchings on heart-tipped arrows, like for a Cupid costume—a good one, preferably, but a cheap Halloween one would do, too—which is the image I wanted for this post because tonight I’ve been working on the bal masqué scenes.
What do you think—silk brocade?
This morning I started Aaron Sorkin’s MasterClass, and I like that he immediately admits he’s better on paper because it makes his super-awkwardness less awkward.
I totally didn’t expect him to be at all awkward.
I feel better about myself.
A couple weeks ago after I finished all the seasons of GBBO, I needed something new to watch so started Dark Matter.
I sent this clip from the groundhog day episode to all the people I know who might like the show.
I love Android.
God help me, for some reason after I finished that I started The Vampire Diaries.
I’m on episode 30-something, having specifically chosen the show because it has 170-something episodes and I wouldn’t have to pick something else new anytime soon, but yeah, lol, what is this show even.
I’m never going to get to 20 lines.
I’m never going to finish this glass of wine.
I can’t believe Reiny is still alive and seemingly happy and healthy and still jumping on the bed and running around and stuff.
I mean, she’s really old, way older than Boo.
Today J and I, full of ironic but real-enough angst and ennui, totally uninterested in our lifestyle blogger burglar-murderer novel, started a new story we actually like.
It started out as a joke about how I’m a ghost that can’t shake vampires or zombies because they just keep coming, for years, decades even, but also there are boa constrictors, and a guy in a bison costume, and a cabin explosion.
We are winning at this writing thing.