I know somebody on the ol’ blogroll is from/lives in Bournemouth, though offhand I can’t remember which one it is.
In any case, I keep tripping over Bournemouth references lately. First I read “The Greyling Crescent Tragedy” in Ellery Queen’s year-end anthology for 1967, in which a key scene takes place in Bournemouth. But it’s by John Creasey, who was so prolific he most likely used every municipality in Great Britain, and probably more than once.
Then I was reading about the first woman to head a major symphony orchestra, in Baltimore. She previously wielded the baton in Bournemouth. I’m guessing Baltimore was a step up.
And You Only Live Twice is on TV right now, with character actor Charles Gray in a small role (NOT “A Criminologist”). So I looked him up at IMDB; he was born in Bournemouth in 1928, and died of cancer in 2000.
Brett Favre may have played his way into the old-folks’ home last night in Green Bay’s 48-3 (!) loss to Kyle Boller (!!) and the Baltimore Raves (!!!). The AP story running at SI.com says, “Favre, meanwhile, struggled from the outset in his final appearance on ABC’s Monday Night Football.” (emphasis added). I guess they know something we don’t know.
Last week and through the weekend, I didn’t feel like doing shit. Didn’t want to work. Didn’t want to play. No reading. No writing. Dozing off at lunchtime, then waking up at 4am. Definitely the blahs.
Seem to be a bit perkier today. Managed to trade a few good-natured insults with the office smartass. Before long, complete sentences. But for now – Hulk smash!
(An Alternate Theory: If I’m really a bear, like my wife says, I may be getting ready to hibernate.)
Cowboys Update: The Cowboys suck.
Mavericks Update: Ever since Don Nelson hung up his whistle last spring, making Avery Johnson the Mavs’ new coach, I’ve been really high on this team. Everybody on this team can score, and they’re learning to play better on the defensive end. This year they’ve already blown out the Spurs and the Pistons, and beat the Suns twice (without Stoudamire, who murdered them last year). As the Cowboys start making their vacation plans, I’ll keep you updated on the good team in town.
Incidentally, I said the Cowboys were “too inconsistent” months ago. You can look it up.
Happy Birthday to me. I’m 37. Also born today: Frank Sinatra, Jennifer Connollly, Blossom, and “Casey Cleavage”.
The Fort Worth Star-Telegram is running a writing contest: send in a 200-word opening of a Western novel (with certain requirements), and if you are selected, you get to write one of 12 chapters in a serial novel a la The Floating Admiral or Naked Came The Manatee. The other authors include a bunch of people I’ve never read, plus the great Elmer Kelton, who was a guest of honor at the Bouchercon I attended, at Austin in 2002. Why they didn’t grab this guy I don’t know.
Now I’ve only written one story that could qualify as a Western – the title is “West, Texas” after all – but that’s more of a crime story. But there’s a lot of crossover between crime and westerns, with guys like Bill Pronzini, Loren Estleman, Robert J. Randisi, and Ed Gorman moving freely back and forth. And Scott Phillips, best known for The Ice Harvest, recently published Cottonwood, which is nothing if not a Western. So why not me?
What can you say in 200 words? My first attempt uses up all 200, and tries to
A) Set the scene – Texas by name, Hill Country by implication;
B) Name the main character, and give a hint of his background; and
C) Set up some conflict as he runs across a wounded man.
So – five paragraphs, 14 sentences, 200 words. Shorter than this rambling post, in fact. Wish me luck.