Early Morning

It was about 7:20, so I said, What the hell, I'll take a nap this afternoon anyhow, and I got out the door at 7:45. Eureka! The perfect time of day. Well, not quite as perfect as 7am probably is, but pretty good. Maybe low 70s. By the end of the run, high 70s. (Voice of Trillian: "And...rising!")

I got further today than I've gotten so far without stopping. Yay for me! I rock. Well, two-plus miles nonstop (followed by a mile of walking/jogging) isn't exactly rocking, but considering the quantity of hills involved, I'm pretty damned pleased. (Note to Rob: include some hills in your training for the Bay-to-Breakers.)

There were also more people out. The great California secret: get out there early. It was fun passing all the businesses on Ventura getting ready to start the day. One shop owner was diligently sweeping out the front of his sidewalk, just like I've always heard.

I called Glenn of the GSP last night. Now that school's close to starting again, I've started calling people to find out what's up, what they're doing. We chatted for a long time -- he's been working as a production assistant on The New Swiss Family Robinson and maintaining a writing group (or, often, a bull group) with a couple of other guys from the program. He invited me to stop in tonight and say hi.

He mentioned how many scripts he wants to get done in the coming year (3 or 4) -- I think he's a wee bit nuts to try to do that many, but I think at least 1 a semester is a fine goal. That's my plan, at any rate.

We also talked about the just graduated class, and he said he wasn't surprised by how badly a lot of them did. His writing teacher last year read several of the thesis scripts and said they read like they had forgotten everything they'd learned in the basic writing class: scenes must have TENSION. It was just one scene after another, no build, no tension.

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

The greater part of 3 miles. Whoo hoo! (Oh, wait: did the cheering thing already.)

My nails are intact.

(I'm not sure I've explained why my nails are such a big deal to me. I have bitten them and/or picked at them for the better part of 20 years. One day I wondered what it would be like to bite my nails, and I've been doing it ever since. I usually pick at them so low that my fingers hurt, and typing is a bitch. The fingernail line became a symbol of failure (to stop biting and/or picking them) and I hated shaking hands with anyone -- or letting my hands be seen at all. My father, not one to comment on my personal appearance at all, started asking how I'm doing with my nails every time I've seen him over the past decade. (That I actually have nails that click against the keys right now is nothing short of miraculous. I've had nails this long in the past 5 years, but I always started in with the destructo-mode again. I don't want to. Hence, this statistic.)

It's 10am. Whoo hoo! Must get to writing.