Caffeine Cowboy

By this point in the day, the harsh light comes from the Sbux window and I can barely see the screen. I have to keep rotating for the angle. Since taking up shop early this morning, I've been through full albums by Lily Allen, Spoon, Grinderman, Robert Pollard, and Springsteen. 3,500 words in one day. About as much as I ever produce in one sitting. I'm a slow cooker.

The words are, of course, not to be judged by their number. But it's still a nice little mark of the state of things. I tend to write more when I'm enjoying it more, so three-thousand plus words means there must be music in there, somewhere. In terms of the narrative, I'm getting closer to the part where it all comes together. The finish line is, of course, not the final word, but this coming together. Hmm. This sounds overly cryptic. Not meant to be, lads and lassies.

Orson Welles, when offered a role in The Third Man, asked only that his character not appear until the 2/3rds mark. Because he knew that was when the shit hits the fan.

And we see that mark ahead.

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Jess and I watched God is in the House last night, a Nick Cave concert film shot during the tour supporting No More Shall We Part. In terms of pace, energy, and sound quality, it was as good a tour film as I've seen. The brief documentary included on the disc was likely worth more attention than I paid to it, since whenever I did care to notice, it seemed to provide a mini-lesson in songcraft and song recording.

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My work day as a writer is over. I'm going to go pick up the Dufflebag, see if I can read a little Steinbeck, and see what the day holds.