everyone's entitled to my opinion
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Visit the MESSAGE BOARDS Where everyone knows how sleep-deprived you are |
 Short crime musical with armed thugs in drag |
 Short screen opera about God, with funny parts |
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Father of twins and novelist/filmmaker/musician
in New York on the
Upper Upper Upper Upper
Upper West Side.
People complain about musicals.
Nobody just stops in the street
I say you know the wrong people.
They say:
and breaks into song.
And the final tally is...
...still not known. A few people are still asking about pledges.
Once it really seems to have settled down, I'll add it all up. But I think it's safe to say it'll be between $2200 and $2300. I heard from the fine lunatics at Crimespree today, and I should have the six giveaway copies pretty soon.
In the turbid waters of my head (and, I assume, the turbid waters of yours), little story moments that I didn't write occasionally float by. Can't remember what stories they're from, these little sparkles of plot that stuck years or decades ago, but it pleases me how many I've encountered again in their original contexts this week. I'm reading Somerset Maugham again, his COLLECTED STORIES, VOL. 1.
What a surgeon he is; always a cold eye behind the horror or amusement. Always a layer of sympathy, even admiration, for the scoundrel; always a sad pursing of the lips over the shortcomings of the kind and decent. And the stories always finely wrought and pitched just so (though when they're collected you can pick out where he's repeating his ploys). And what a steady hand he has with moments of understanding, whether yours or a character's.
I don't think his comedies work as well as his tragedies; but I also don't think I can say with certainty which are which. I'm looking forward to seeing how RAIN (the first story in this collection) translated to film in 1932. Joan Crawford, Walter Huston, Beulah Bondi--and Netflix has it.
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Once it really seems to have settled down, I'll add it all up. But I think it's safe to say it'll be between $2200 and $2300. I heard from the fine lunatics at Crimespree today, and I should have the six giveaway copies pretty soon.
In the turbid waters of my head (and, I assume, the turbid waters of yours), little story moments that I didn't write occasionally float by. Can't remember what stories they're from, these little sparkles of plot that stuck years or decades ago, but it pleases me how many I've encountered again in their original contexts this week. I'm reading Somerset Maugham again, his COLLECTED STORIES, VOL. 1.
What a surgeon he is; always a cold eye behind the horror or amusement. Always a layer of sympathy, even admiration, for the scoundrel; always a sad pursing of the lips over the shortcomings of the kind and decent. And the stories always finely wrought and pitched just so (though when they're collected you can pick out where he's repeating his ploys). And what a steady hand he has with moments of understanding, whether yours or a character's.
I don't think his comedies work as well as his tragedies; but I also don't think I can say with certainty which are which. I'm looking forward to seeing how RAIN (the first story in this collection) translated to film in 1932. Joan Crawford, Walter Huston, Beulah Bondi--and Netflix has it.
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