Driving home after work...and after a slice of pizza at Wegman's...I noticed a fat, full moon near the horizon, barely yellow and glowing in a soft haze. The halo around it was massive and gentle, and to the right two contrails had crossed in a hint of an X in the mist. My first thought was, "Werewolves are haunting London, tonight."
Moments like this remind me of how much of a night creature I am. When I worked at Book Soup, in West Hollywood, I didn't have a car. On the nights where I worked until midnight, I'd join some of the other employees for a beer then walk home along streets so devoid of traffic, it's like no one lived in the city. Even the few cars tooling down Sunset or La Cienega or San Vicente were so tender in their passing, it's like they were nothing but ghosts reminding me of the ethereal world.
There's a Norm's Diner about halfway between my apartment and the shop, and many times I'd stop in for a midnight meal. Eggs over easy with bacon. Sometimes a short stack or a waffle. Almost always a breakfast meal. And this was despite me being very short of cash, because those meals made my world complete, at that time, so were more ritual than nourishment-based.
Then I'd go to bed about 3, sleep till 11 and get ready to go back to work. It fit my whole attitude about myself...me being a vampire in a former death. All so dark and romantic and Mickey Spillane in the city of angels. It's amazing I was never accosted.
This was all before I got heavy and serious about my writing. Now I'm so lost in it, even when I'm not being able to spit out a word, I can't watch movies or go walking in the city in the wee hours because they take me away from the creative time.
Tonight, however, I made it to the halfway point on IF. Where things begin to unravel for Vinnie. Page 165 of 315; 71,400 words. And his voice is becoming surer and more consistent and meaningful.
But I miss my midnight walks.
Moments like this remind me of how much of a night creature I am. When I worked at Book Soup, in West Hollywood, I didn't have a car. On the nights where I worked until midnight, I'd join some of the other employees for a beer then walk home along streets so devoid of traffic, it's like no one lived in the city. Even the few cars tooling down Sunset or La Cienega or San Vicente were so tender in their passing, it's like they were nothing but ghosts reminding me of the ethereal world.
There's a Norm's Diner about halfway between my apartment and the shop, and many times I'd stop in for a midnight meal. Eggs over easy with bacon. Sometimes a short stack or a waffle. Almost always a breakfast meal. And this was despite me being very short of cash, because those meals made my world complete, at that time, so were more ritual than nourishment-based.
Then I'd go to bed about 3, sleep till 11 and get ready to go back to work. It fit my whole attitude about myself...me being a vampire in a former death. All so dark and romantic and Mickey Spillane in the city of angels. It's amazing I was never accosted.
This was all before I got heavy and serious about my writing. Now I'm so lost in it, even when I'm not being able to spit out a word, I can't watch movies or go walking in the city in the wee hours because they take me away from the creative time.
Tonight, however, I made it to the halfway point on IF. Where things begin to unravel for Vinnie. Page 165 of 315; 71,400 words. And his voice is becoming surer and more consistent and meaningful.
But I miss my midnight walks.
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