Happy Sunday dear readers! I hope your weekend has been as swell as mine. Zim, alas, is not having the best weekend; he is currently suffering from hotspots, which means he is doing his absolute best to lick and bite all the fur off of his butt, and he’s been surprisingly successful in accomplishing this. Because Zim isn’t quite as cute as he usually is (mostly because half of his rear is bald and scabbed over), I’m posting a couple of throwback pictures today taken the night we first brought Zimmy home. Wasn’t he just absolutely adorable as a puppy? I mean, come on. How can you not fall in love with a face like that?
In terms of writing this week, my prep work for NaNoWriMo is well under way. I’m almost done with Perfume and a little under halfway finished with No Country for Old Men, so I’m hoping to wrap both of those up by tomorrow morning and then watching the film adaptations for both. Reading those two books at the same time has been an interesting experience, to say the least, seeing as McCarthy and Süskind’s styles couldn’t be more different.
Compare these two opening passages:
No Country for Old Men:
I sent one boy to the gaschamber at Huntsville. One and only one. My arrest and my testimony. I went up there and visited with him two or three times. Three times. The last time was the day of his execution. I didn’t have to go but I did. I sure didnt want to. He’d killed a fourteen year old girl and I can tell you right now I never did have no great desire to visit with him let alone go to his execution but I done it. The papers said it was a crime of passion and he told me there wasnt no passion to it. He’d been datin this girl, young as she was. He was nineteen. And he told me that he had been plannin to kill somebody about as long as he could remember.
In eighteenth-century France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. His name was Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, and if his name—in contrast to the names of other gifted abominations, de Sade’s, for instance, or Saint-Just’s, Fouche’s, Bonaparte’s, etc.—has been forgotten today, it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those more famous blackguards when it came to arrogance, misanthropy, immorality, or, more succinctly, to wickedness, but because his gifts and his sole ambition were restricted to a domain that leaves no traces in history: to the fleeting realm of scent.
See what I mean about different?
Apart from reading, outlining and character sketching are going well, and I even wrote a short passage about my female character that I was actually proud of! It was the first time I’ve written something for this novel that I’ve been pleased with in a long, long time, so it was more than a little bit exciting for me to feel like I might be slowly but surely breaking out of this writers block.
Well it’s back to prep work for me, so I’ll leave you, dear reader, with one last picture of puppy Zim trying to learn how to high five. Again, how adorable was he??