Thursday, July 12, 2012


Oh well, the 12th of July. There was a time when I was much younger than I am now, when I wished that this was my birthday rather than six days earlier. I mean, Andrew Wyeth, an artist whose work I adored when I was in high school, came into the world through the door marked 12 July, three months after the U.S. jumped into the  loathsome, needless 'Great War,' made to look so quaint and picturesque on many a Masterpiece Theater. And every 12th of July marks another anniversary of the day that Henry David Thoreau was born. And didn't I love Walden when I was a romantic, deeply dorky high school student. So how did I celebrate the day? By continuing work on a revision of a novel for which I have hopes then going to a movie I'd looked forward to, to see what it'd look like. I'd loved the book on which it was based. Really wished I'd written Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith. I'm no scholar, not a genuine historian, but I'd done enough research on my own books about our 16th president to know that S. G-S. had done his homework and had created a wonderful entertainment - unlike the jokers who made the dreadful film out of which I walked well before its conclusion.

July 13th will be better.  Tomorrow is another day - a quote from another movie that wasn't as good as the book.  Except for JAWS [masterpiece film/mediocre book] and To Kill a Mockingbird [brilliant movie/brilliant novel], the book is always better. The book is always better.

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