After two weeks of feeling drugged and tired, I’m now hyper and wired. This would be great if only my muse was ALSO hyper and wired. Alas, it is not so.
With all the cool Friday night Sci-Fi shows on hiatus, Fuzzy and I resorted to watching horror movies tonight. Well, resorted isn’t really the word. I’d been planning all week to sit on the couch and indulge in watching Wes Craven’s New Nightmare on AMC. (I’d have preferred it without commercials, and with commentary, but it seems ridiculous to PAY to rent a movie I’ve already seen, when I can watch it for free on television.)
When I was eighteen I wanted to make horror films. I still have the *best* recipe for stage blood ever, and I learned to scream from the Linnea Quigley Film School (it was a series of tongue-in-cheek spots on MTV one October).
Tonight, though, rather than grabbing the video camera and plotting a home-made horror film, all I can do is sit here thinking that it might be helpful if I could get Freddy Krueger to slash my inner censor to bits.
One can wish.
Tomorow, the writing will go better, I’m certain.