I'm doing exactly that this Friday, where I will step from the red-eye flight into an enormous puddle of gritty snow. A lot of people say to me - "You grew up in Hawaii. You still have family there. Why the hell would you go to NYC in the dead of winter?"
To those people I say: "Fifth Avenue the week before christmas."
Not the shoppers rushing home with their treasures, but the shops themselves on display. I generally despise shopping. I adore looking at shops, though, all lit and wrapped as though they themselves are the treasure. I'm hoping that Bret's interest in architecture will distract him from the fact that we can't fit a turkey into the oven in the studio.
But what does this have to do with writing? Almost nothing. I've had horrible writer's block for a week and a half, which may be because I've been so worried about Christmas presents and cooking and cleaning. But I'm trying to use a Yule Log to start a fire under my ass (presumably not the one used to carry the Virgin to Bethlehem) -- Mike will be there and we'll finally send out these scripts, and Rob will be there so we can finally record this damn demo. And in the meantime, a Christmas song to get me going:
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