I've been trying to blog every day, sort of as a challenge to myself and my (lack of) writerly discipline, but obviously I missed yesterday. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I was too busy brunching, shopping, cake-eating, walking, and movie-attending to fit it in yesterday. I will endeavor to do better the rest of the week.
I hope yesterday's brunch was not the last meal this season that I eat sitting at a sidewalk table. But rather than bore you all with a sad meditation on how all the long, warm days are coming to a crashing end, and because I'm supposed to be upstairs this very minute, cleaning and throwing out more crap, I'll just bring up one thing D pointed out the other day when he was watching the original 1978 Halloween on TV:
Michael Myers breaks out of the mental institution and steals a car. If, according to the story, he's been locked up since he was a young child, who taught him how to drive?
Plot holes, plot holes. The bane of a writer's existence.
xoxo
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