So, I'm sitting in the car, by the park (where I often do the stairs), and this is the first day where a) I'm in short sleeves, and 2) it's too hot to sit in the car and write. That makes me worry: once it gets REALLY warm, I won't be able to do this at all. Hmmm.
Hopefully, the library will be open again by then. We'll see.
The park is busy today, so I had to park down the way a bit, and I'm in front of the Park Use Regulations sign. One of the rules is "Golfing, archery or discharge of any weapon is prohibited." Seems like a given, but so is, "Do not drive vehicles or ride horses on grass areas." Also, "Owners must dispose of dog waste." That makes me wonder how many different ways they tried phrasing it before they decided on that. At the bottom of the sign (before it says, "If you witness damage or unusual behavior, please notify Police Department), it says, "Vandalism of any kind is unlawful."
Kind of reminds me of the signs at the UCLA dorms that said, "Please do not pee in the sink." I wasn't planning to, believe me. But now that you mention it . . .
I finished editing another Rish Outcast today (a short episode, though I may stick some bonus thing in at the end to pad the runtime), and I did just a little bit of writing today. I got beyond the has-to-be-rewritten bit in my Mason/Rowan story today. Quite by accident, I've actually gotten to the point on the timeline where the first story I wrote (2015's "True Ghost Encounter") starts to overlap with my 2019 characters.
There's a bit where Mason has his Friday shift with Natalie and she's speaking Spanish to a couple from Honduras, and he just watches her and longs for her to like him, even a little. I know there is a great deal of that in these stories (easily as much as there are run-ins with ghosts), but I wish that I could convey just a little of how that unrequited stuff feels, even if it were only in that one paragraph.
As I've probably said before, I fully intended for Mason and Natalie to become a romantic couple in these stories, but as they've gone on, it has become increasingly less likely. I think they've grown closer, and are actually friends (which is better than nothing, don't get me wrong), but even when I try to write some kind of spark between them, it is quickly extinguished. Maybe that says a bit too much about the writer, that he can't get these two crazy kids together, but I never claimed to be a wordsmith.
Once again, I made it to the end of the day without getting a thousand words done. I guess that would cost me, if I had set a goal to do/average a thousand words a day.
Words Today: 704
Words In April: 28,050
P.S. Every day I post one of these:
Del Shannon died in February of 1990. I remember seeing the story on "Entertainment Tonight." They played a bit of "Runaway," and then said he had died the day before . . . "of a self-inflicted gunshot wound." Those were the words that resonated with me (and who knows if that's exactly what they said thirty years ago, but that's how they've echoed all these years later). I was young enough to say, "does self-inflicted mean, he shot himself? Oh, no." It has colored that song with melancholy for me ever since. And that's exactly how the song was supposed to feel anyway.
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