Tuesday, February 22, 2005

So long, HST

No, not Truman. Hunter S. Thompson apparently committed suicide Sunday night in his Woody Creek cabin. I have long been an admirer of Thompson's writing. His no-bullshit style was a real wake-up call back in the early 70's, when I first started to read him. He supposedly invented Gonzo Journalism, where the journalist becomes part of the story and often helps create the story. That he committed suicide is not a real big surprise to me. He lived too hard to be able to tolerate getting old. He was 67.

Just call me Jack

As in the Ripper. Cut "TYSBAS" down to 5005 words. I'll cut 5 more tomorrow. I have to rest now; my knife is smoking. Forcing myself to do this has been educational. I'm learning to recognize wordiness and to think of alternatives. Passive voice is still a bug-a-boo for me, which drives the word count up. I also still have a fondness for adverbs. Need to work on my verb vocabulary. I want to get this one in the mail ASAP. Maybe tomorrow or Thursday.

For now, I'm going to make a few notes on the "Carrion Comfort" revision, then work on the "Wolf Moon" rewrite. I'd like to get them both out no later than Monday, so I can finish the Dare at Forward Motion. I have yet to finish one.

Bad dreams in the night

Last night's entertainment was hammer murders. With a 4-pound sledge, no sissy claw hammers here. Luckily, I was not the one wielding the hammer. Unluckily, the perp was always one step faster than me, and I could never quite catch up. Ugh.

Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer
came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell's silver hammer
made sure that she was dead
Lennon/McCartney -- "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" from Abbey Road

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