I’ve mentioned I like horror as a genre, both in books and films, right?
Oh, such a disingenuous opening. Putting aside rhetorical coyness, then– today’s film is a small commentary on the unexpectedly repetitive work of one of the great modern names in the genre.
For the record, I think Crimson Peak was an extremely fun film, and given the sort of thing it was set out to emulate, a quite successful exercise in its sub-genre. You’re certainly allowed to think otherwise, of course.
† As we gear up at The Regular Job for post-COVID operations, there’s been some shuffling, and one of the effects this has upon me is taking both barrels in the face of this question: “You don’t mind covering the front desk over lunch, do you?”
It’s not a big deal, but the Selfish Artist trope who is among the multitudes which I contain is grumbling. I still have, technically, the full length of my lunch break, it just doesn’t start until 12:45. However, acting upon that seriously truncates the afternoon. I think I may have mentioned that I am extremely busy with Real Job lately?
This is likely to become less of a problem as we get back to more usual staffing levels (like many, I desperately hope that COVID marks the turn of an epoch, and the world will not simply return to status quo ante, but at a personal level… more people on-site to help with the lifting at Regular Job, please). It’s also not what I’m used to, and that is frequently enough to make a thing onerous.
I just put in the order for the new computer. I know that for some a new computer is a trivial expense, or perhaps a minor inconvenience. I’m not like that. Three people, one paycheck (plus the vast wealth which writing short fiction generates); it’s not an arrangement with a lot of loose cash. So, the strange fluttering in my chest at the prospect of a new, fully-functional computer arriving on the doorstep soon is… hard to ascribe a genesis to.
Oh, look; it’s next month’s credit card statement.
Let’s put terror aside, now, and consider horror. Fun horror.
Had I a little thought to spare at the moment, I might do my own suggestions in this style, but for the moment– that’s a pretty solid list.
It’s V-E Day, gang, and I have made no secret about how the conflict that was brought to an end seventy-five years ago today weighs upon my imagination (for recent readers: my father grew up in occupation).
But, since we’re all after entertainment in the grim current setting, let’s join The Tank Museum as they brew up some perfectly goodabominable damp cups of tea.
There. A comforting cuppa. What could be better (other than not having to be in a tank to drink it)?
† In any normal year, filing on 5 May would be disastrously late, even in Canada (15 April? Why that, US?). In this plague addled year, though, I’m three and a half weeks ahead of the deadline. This is mainly because the government agency tasked with scraping money off of us is also responsible for handing it out to the unemployed and underemployed; the plague has complicated the hell out of that side of their duties. It’s as much to give the employees of the Canada Revenue Agency some hope for bathroom breaks as it is for the rest of us to figure out what’s going on with our personal finances.
And because I don’t make a lot of money, and because Wife and Son make none at all, I am getting a refund on what has been skimmed from my pay and also on the Carbon Tax we’ve been put under, as an incentive to not use internal combustion transport and natural gas heating.‡ This will, hoorah, be about enough to buy a new computer, allowing me to maybe update my site.
Eventually. The CRA is quite busy, and delivering refunds is yet another aspect of handing out the money they otherwise draw in. I understand this. It’ll come in due course.
‡ I certainly would like to get my hands on an electric vehicle and a ground-sourced heat-pump powered by solar generation. Alas, the carbon tax rebate meant to encourage this (even if you’re not buying gas, you still get the rebate, so ka-ching!) isn’t anywhere near enough for that sort of thing.
As the pace of work on “Ancestral Curse” suggests, I’m still having snoozy issues which may be related to the stresses of the current plague. I know that failing entirely to post the preceding is down to that stress, atop extra month-end stress brought on by the departed co-worker, about which I have previously whined.
Also, I got into a small creative froth, which I explain the genesis of in a post on my writing site, and so my whole attention yesterday was given over to frothing.
Um.
No, actually I’ll leave it. Anyway, it didn’t really strike me until I was lowering head to pillow that yesterday was Thursday. I can’t really blame that on COVID, since the ticking of my weekly clock goes on as ever it has.
Let me not break with Friday tradition, however, now that I’m aware it is Friday. I know a lot of the home-stuck are looking for projects to divert themselves, so here’s one.
Back in the late 1980s, when the interwebz was hardly even present in the fiction of William Gibson, I tried to do this following instructions in books. Now that I see, in motion, how it’s done, I realize how close I was to accomplishing the goal. I was, alas, even closer to losing an eye through the failure of the not-quite-really-a-bow.
Today’s Pen: Sheaffer Balance Statesman
Today’s ink: Skrip Black (which, by pure coincidence, is what I loaded it with when I last used it, somewhat more than a year ago).
What's up at Ravens March. 