I had a wake-up-screaming nightmare last night in which I was attacked by a big crow. Edgar Allen Poe, Ted Hughes "Lovepet," those crows in "The Wiz," I don't care what, a dream where you get attacked by a crow is a pretty evil-assed portent. Maybe it was the spicy jambalaya I ate right before bedtime. I walked around carefully, expecting something to fall, and it did; about a half-foot of snow, and subzero temperatures.
I meant to blog about my war against STUDIO 60 but this week's episode was so full of contrived couplings and breaking aparts that I sort of can't absorb it all. At least LOST is on tomorrow.
In the meantime, I am slugging away on MENTAL SCARS for producer Richard Myles and hope to deliver a completed rewrite shortly. Seems like every producer I talk to lately is living someplace warm, making the sky a little grayer here. But soon spring will come to the heartland.
Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.
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