Vote for me come November.

I would have enjoyed the last Hunger Games movie a lot more if it didn't remind me of all of the bozos running to President.
And I do mean all of them.

Do the new stormtrooper helmets remind anyone else of The Twilight Zone?

(At least now we know what they look like under there.)

I am not allowed near the water cup when I paint.

I don't know why I did that.
I'm not sure how I did it.
But the cup ended up on its side.
Most of the water landed on the palette.
A little landed on the floor.
None hit the painting.
Which was lucky...I guess.

Katniss didn't make me want to take up archery.

Robin Hood did.
And to a lesser extent, Skippy.

Once upon a time...

Another draft is in the books, well, book.
All of the little red marks have been typed in, I hope.
(And hopefully all of the little words that were apparently missing have found homes.)
Now I think it's time to read it out loud for my own personal story time.
Then we'll see what happens.
(And wrestle with something else so that something else can maybe happen.)

Nope.

Silly me to think I'd actually use that glue gun without burning my finger.
Again.
Different finger, though.
And not nearly as bad.
I don't even need a Band-Aid.
Or ice.
Or both.

Don't believe the news.

Greece was lovely.
(The jet lag not so much.)

Here's looking at you. And thinking.

Eleanor Roosevelt type looks aren't appreciated today.
They weren't really appreciated back then either.

People with light hair are the first to point out their gray/white hairs.
This is because they can't be seen unless they're pointed out.
Dark hair does not give one that luxury, especially when the white lines begin to appear.
Oh wait, I'm sorry.
The "sparkles."
(Yeah, right.)

And finally:

Dark circles are apparently supposed to suddenly appear under your eyes.
They aren't supposed to have lived there forever.

Maybe they should have tried telling him to "Let it go."

I don't think the makers of Frozen envisioned me writing that scene to their soundtrack.
Still, yay for backstory.
Though I blame the other backstory for making it possible because if they hadn't asked for help, those two wouldn't have fought, and he wouldn't have taken their asking so poorly.

I need to make copies.

The machine is jammed.
The toner is low.
There's a line at the counter and two ladies chatting in front of the other machine.
One might have something to copy but hasn't done it yet, or has already finished.
Regardless, they aren't moving.
I don't think they even know I'm there.
That's pretty much how this day has gone.
Oh well, at least I found the twine.

"I'm only going to cut out the pieces."

An hour or so later, the coin purse is done.

Stinging nettles.

No fun at all.
(Rose thorns, too.)

Ugh.

Sometimes I want to apologize to everyone I gave this book to.
This would be one of those times.

Book One needed a haircut anyway.

I just have to keep telling myself that.
And that it's okay to move things around.
And that it's really not so bad.
And that part needed some fiddling with anyway.
And that mysteriously vanishing book needed to be dealt with.
And they really needed a better reason for appearing.
Or any reason at all.
And the whole thing is going to be better because of these changes.
And it's better to realize it now rather than later.
Yeah, I just have to keep telling myself that.
Again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

And not everyone is going to survive the rescue.

I didn't think they would.
(I'm a little worried about Groot.)

Pray for Gertie.

The grand dame of the Christmas cactus family is unwell.
The poor dear dropped most of herself to the floor and of what remained in the pot, only about 5% looked alive.
She's now been divided into three pots and we're hoping for the best.
Of course, if she survives, I'll need some new names, though the 5% is now officially known as Groot.

Chopin train music.

Unexpected but great.

The smoothing lines have been drawn.

Now I have to paint them in.
And risk wrecking this thing.
Again.
But it won't ever be finished if I don't try.
I just wish the colors were as forgiving as the greens.
But they're not.
Still, I must try.

Don't make deals with fairies.

Or find out exactly what they mean before you agree.
(But it would still be safer to find your own solution to the problem than to take theirs.)

Fall, Take Two.

There comes a point when you realize that what needs to be fixed and what could go wrong mean it would be easier to start over and try again.
We have reached that point.
Oh well.
At least I've got some scratch paper now.
And a place to test the blended colors before I apply them to the final picture.
Hopefully I won't make the same mistakes a second time.
For yellow is an unforgiving color.
Dark enough to cause problems when it's in the wrong place.
Light enough to let the pencil marks shine through.
Ah well, such is the life of an elf.

I know they're not going to do it, but I want them to.

The worst part of watching a show is when you want the story to go one way but know it probably won't.

Even if the pieces are set for it to happen.

Even if it would make sense.
Even if it could make the overall story more interesting.

But since it throws the love story away, it probably won't.

Even though it would be better.

(At least I think it would be.)

Because the love story route is the easy route, and wastes the opportunity of the other story line.

I guess I'll just have to keep watching, and hope to be pleasantly surprised.

Even though I'm pretty sure that I won't be because as loosely based on history as this is, they'll probably be sure to use that.

Ow.

Since confirming that gravity was still in effect last Sunday I've apparently decided to single-handedly keep Band-Aid in business.

(I also confirmed that the ground is hard, and the immovable object is indeed immovable.)

Orange.

So much orange.
It's a little more forgiving than red.
(But not by much.)

And we're done.

The changes from The Second Red Edit have been entered.
181,812 words and 289 pages have taken their bows and left the stage.
There's still more to cut, but I think it's time for a break.
Right after I fix that one scene that's been bugging me.
Then it's definitely break time.
Unless I think of something else.
But after that, break.
Maybe.

Whatever happened to just lowering your voice a little?

Who decided that Batman had to sound like he smoked 500 packs of cigarettes a day, was a robot, or had been turned into a constipated dinosaur?

(And on a completely unrelated note, how did Professor X not know about Iceman?)

It was kind of sad when the Moment in Nature ended.

A bird outside was answering the bird chirping on television.
I kind of want to know what they were talking about.

What I've learned from opera and the movies:

Don't spurn the Egyptian princess.

I think this will do nicely.

Some characters deserve to be hit on the head with the biggest book in the library.

He is one of them.

(And I could easily think of others.)

The rug won't dry

If it's left outside in the snow.

Farewell, sweet Tiger.

You're now the biggest little cat in Heaven.

Argh.

Why did you close that file while I was working on it and hadn't saved?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why couldn't you have done that before I spent a half hour typing that new bit in?
And what the heck went wrong that made you need to close the document?
It's not like it was the Internet.
Oh well.
It's retyped now.
And I have to admit, I like it better.
But don't think that that gives you permission to do it again.

Trees finished and birded.

And so long as I don't look at it too closely, I like it.
Besides, if I wanted it to be perfect, I would have made it on a computer.
I just have to remember the paintings from the museum and the imperfections that get smoothed out in photographs.
And also the words of the immortal Bob Ross: "We don't make mistakes.  We have happy accidents."
Now on to Fall.

Forget Phillip.

Merryweather was the real hero.

And we have a plot hole.

It's small, and only needs a tiny bit of spackle,
But it's there and needs to be filled.
Frankly, I expected one earlier.

The painting taught me many things.

Like how easy it was to make dog-headed deer.
They're fixed now, but it wasn't easy.

That's why it took ten pens, folks.

I believe there was more red on that page than actual words.
Oh well.
That's the beginning for you.
Especially the beginning that's been rewritten.
And rewritten again when it was being typed in.
(Yeah, I took a little bit of a break.)

Yum.

The glass lid sparkles with the condensation of cooking soup.

Someday I'll finish this painting.

But I have to get the legs of that darn deer right.
(He previously suffered from what I've taken to calling Pooping Dog Syndrome.)
I think I've got them right now.
But I'm giving it a day.
Tomorrow I'll look at them again and see if I think they're right.
If they are, I'll paint.
If not, I'll try again.
And again.
And again.
And hope I don't wreck the paper before I've finished.

Aida

Music to paint tree trunks by.
Six hours of tree trunks.

What I want to do requires the steady hands of a surgeon.

I do not possess such hands.
But if I wanted those lines to be truly straight, I would have used a computer.
The same applies to the circles.
And who knows, maybe there's wind.

And the second Red Edit ends.

There seems to be something there.
I'll know once all the changes are typed in.
And I read it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.

I am not to be trusted around yarn, or scissors.

I made a rug.

It took 8 months to cut the yarn and 6 months to put it all together.
And I already have an idea for a second.

They made a mistake,

And he made a mistake.
But he won't acknowledge it,
And they don't care.

I really want this character to die.

But I know he doesn't.
And that isn't going to change.

It's ok if there's nothing else on.

I don't know that I had high hopes for Galavant.
I know that I started getting worried when I was watching the making of show and everyone seemed so very proud of themselves and seemed to basically say that something like this had never been done before even though I could think of several examples of times it had, just not on television.
Then I saw the show.
It was ok.
Just ok.
It was basically Robin Hood: Men in Tights meets Spamalot meets A Knight's Tale meets The Princess Bride made for Saturday afternoon syndication.
And it seemed like it was still trying to find its feet after two of the eight episodes.
And at times it seemed to be trying a little too hard.
And sounding like it came from two people giggling in a room somewhere late at night, coming up with ideas that in the light of day would never see the light of day.
So it was ok.
And I found myself watching The Great British Baking Show on PBS during the commercials.
And wondering how much of the show I could see during the commercials.
And, I'll admit, I did make sure I saw who won before going back to see if the commercials were over.
So yeah, it was ok.
If I had something else to watch, I'd probably watch that and watch this using On demand.
If it suddenly disappeared or I couldn't watch it, my life wouldn't end.
If it was any longer than eight episodes, I don't know that I'd continue.
Because I was just ok.
And I think ok is all it's going to be.

It figures.

I take down the Christmas tree and it snows.
Maybe I should have done that a month ago.