Later start than I would have liked for reasons not so much sleep related, but because we watched the recording of True Detective Ep7 “Black Maps and Hotel Rooms” when we got home after going to dinner. I really can’t see what getting Ray and Ani together will do for the story, and I can see what it won’t do, which is sustain any suspense about this coiled thing in their characters that lies in wait to bite them. That would have been more interesting than watching Ani throw herself at Ray, out of nowhere except YOUR DREAMS, DIRECTOR EX MACHINA, and him try and fight his better instincts with the same willpower I bring to a free vodka tasting in the duty free gauntlet at Sydney airport. And although I know it ties in ironically to the conversation between them about how maybe women are put on this earth for more than fucking, it baffles me that Pizzolatto isn’t capable of making the irony more interesting than how if you’re queer or a woman you always get fucked—even if you’re a State Investigator—and if you’re a big white guy with lots of money, even with the entire Russian mafia after you, you can still do the fucking.
But I digress. How to write a novel in 90 days, you ask? Before I do anything—and because this is just T = minus 6, and lift off is still five days off, I’ve emptied the coffee grinder and for the sake of all that is holy, replaced those cheap beans with a decent blend in preparation for the main event. For which I’m thinking I will need a plentiful supply of good coffee.