So it's the middle of November and for some reason life has become unusually busy. Nanowrimo is taking up scads of my time and suddenly I have a social life. What's up with that?
Anyway, the point is I'm not doing any writing this month that isn't Nano-related. I'm making a special exception for the people (person?) who check (s?) in with me every so often to see what I'm rambling about.
Yes folks, it's that time of year again! NaNoWriMo time! Or, for the uninitiated, National Novel Writing Month time! Clicky clicky for the link.
By the way, I spent a long time debating over the title of this post- it was originally called "Alright Stop... It's Nano Time" but when I hit upon "Pimp My Wrimo" a smile of manic glee crossed my face. What can I say, I love a good pun.
The other day I received my first ever email scam. The message came through a playlist-sharing website and I was excited at the thought someone liked my compilation of music. However, what I received was even better. Tickled, I read the message over and over, feeling strangely euphoric at having been chosen for this dubious honour.
Just picking myself up off the floor (after watching Millenium) to say that The X Files is really affecting me. I'm flushed and giddy after finishing season six and beginning season seven today.
I really didn't want to write this. I really, really didn't. But something cataclysmic has occured. I would almost go so far as to say the unthinkable has happened.
I've fallen out of love with Buffy. And head over heels for The X Files.
I'm using the terms "awful" and "terrible" in the old-fashioned way, and what I mean is these films are full of awe and terror, but that doesn't make them bad movies. Got it? (Well, except maybe Armageddon. But's that's debatable.)
Four Films (And One Film Trilogy) That Make Me Tear Up Every Single Time I Watch Them:
My words pale into insignificance beside those of Raymond Chandler. So without further ado, let us observe the greatness of the master of noir fiction's prose. And please don't judge my writing skills on that sentence, I just can't think of a better way to put it.
As an entree to the wit and colour of Chandler's writing, let us savour this choice statement from the man in a letter to a publisher:
It was the day after Christmas, and I was bound for the cinema.
The film I was waiting to see had been anticipated more than any Christmas present, including my brand-new iPod and season two of Laguna Beach. Earlier that month I had been to see Enchanted (as a devoted cinephile, I try to absorb a wide cross-section of popular culture), and squirmed with delight as the preview for The Golden Compass unfolded. I may have even shed tears of excitement. So they had changed the name from Northern Lights to The Golden Compass—disappointing, but I could deal. I had the wonderfully promising trailer to buck me up. There was Lyra! There were solemn and possibly evil statements of intent! There was the doomsday choir! It appeared to be everything I adored in fantasy films. In my glee, I failed to notice something odd- the preview was being coupled with a Disney film. An admittedly great, G-rated, children’s film.
Bear with me and my taste in movies for a second. Ever seen Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit? Sister Mary Clarence could be describing me when she says:
"Now. When you think about various people and what they like... you think, "well, this one likes this, this one likes that." Me- I'm what you call 'eclectic'."