...because my life is. Seriously. All I've done the past couple of weeks is work on the secret project - which I finally finished this afternoon. Of course I've overshot the word limit by almost half. Bleh. But on the other hand, at least it gives me something to work with when I start chopping. I have to admit, I get a perverse pleasure out of editing the bejesus out of my words. It's a form of masochism that I doubt most writers would reveal that they embrace - embracing booze or depression or miserable living conditions seems to be far more acceptable ways of torturing ones artistic side.

I'm currently watching old episodes of "The Outer Limits", downloaded from iTunes. Right now I'm watching the one with Robert Culp as the scientist who undergoes radical experiments in order to "turn" himself into an alien. I think it's rather amusing that the more alien he becomes, the more Shakespeare he quotes - in fact, in the most extreme moments of duress, when one might suppose he'd have forgotten the most basic human concepts and forms of expression, he gives Olivier a run for his money. Then again, this seemed to be par for the course with many of the SF shows of the 50's and 60's (don't get me started on "Star Trek", lol). I'm going to try this the next time my characters run out of ideas or find themselves in a bind. Throwing in a massive chunk of iambic pentameter from "Richard III" or "Hamlet" should pretty much solve all my problems from here on out. Yay! ;P

Labels: horses