Yesterday afternoon, I heard thunder rumbling. Normally an ordinary sound here in the summertime, but not this summer. Then the light coming through the windows took on that unique amber color that heralds an afternoon storm. Then I heard the rain. Looked out the front window: heavy downpour. Looked out the back window: nothing. It was raining on one side of the house and not the other. It eventually started in the back yard, too, and both the front and back lawns got a good soaking, which they desperately need. But it was odd for a few minutes.
A busy long weekend. It didn’t set out to be a long weekend, but we had some computer issues at work on Friday that hampered my ability to do my job, so I decided to take most of the day off. My wife was away and I had two lists of things I wanted to get done. One contained household chores, and I spread them out over the weekend and accomplished them all. The other listed writing-related tasks, and I got most of them done. The big one was my Cemetery Dance column for issue #66. I haven’t written one in the better part of a year, but I finally got a handle on it and wrapped it up at 4200 words.
The other major task of the weekend was to watch The Shining, Kubrick’s version, which I haven’t seen in a while, along with all the special features, though I haven’t rewatched the film with the commentary track. I have to write an essay on the adaptations. One thing that I noticed this time that I don’t think I ever marked consciously before is that there is absolutely no indication that Jack and Wendy have a relationship in this film. They never hold hands, kiss, smile at each other. And for all Jack says that he would do anything for his son, he doesn’t do anything with him, either. The “Making Of” feature filmed by Kubrick’s (at the time) 17-year-old daughter has some interesting clips. Nicholson brushing his teeth before going to the set, as a courtesy to his fellow actors. The rough way Kubrick treated Duvall to get the most out of her he could. Her version of Wendy would probably age to become Ruth on Six Feet Under. They have similarly shrill voices and equal parts diffidence.
Speaking of Six Feet Under, my wife thinks she saw Rachel Griffiths (Brenda) at the airport yesterday.
Then it was on the the King miniseries, which I haven’t seen in a decade or more. Here we have a loving couple. They have problems, but they kiss and hold hands. Jack plays in the snow with Danny. Things go downhill rapidly once Jack becomes obsessed with the hotel, but they start out as a credible married couple with a kid. One of the strangest details of the miniseries is Danny’s age. He’s seven years old. That’s repeated a number of times. And yet he can’t read, not even simple road signs, and no one seems to think that’s unusual. Even the pediatrician thinks he’s an overachiever by trying so hard to learn to read. That just seems totally wrong to me. I was reading road signs and driving my parents crazy when I was five. Maybe even younger. I read every word I saw. It simply doesn’t make any sense to me.
I only made it halfway through the miniseries, but watching the two versions so close to each other was illuminating. There were a few chunks of dialog that are identical in the two, presumably coming straight from the novel. The weather report on the CB radio when Jack turns it on sounds like the same thing used in the Kubrick film, too, though I’m not sure that’s exactly right.
This morning I did research for a new short story. While reading through documents, the story’s title leaped out at me. I haven’t written a word of it yet, but I know what it’s called, now, and that helps a great deal in framing the story.
I can’t believe it’s only a little over a week until NECon.
Got a chance to see the first episode of Torchwood: Miracle Day.
