Lean and athirst

Last night I read Rain Dogs again. Wow. In a lot of ways it's my worst story--phoned in plot, absent themes, a protag who doesn't, etc. But it has huuuuuge...chunks of prose that I love. The first nineteen pages are nonstop darlings, and then the end falls apart. But I love it too much to leave it in the trunk, so the 20s pulpstravaganza rewrite shall commence.

And as I was typing this, I had the most horrible vision. 20s Scooby Doo Cthulhu adventures. It would totally work as a prequel to RD, too--I already have the hound named Daphne. If I unleash this horror on the world, it will be entirely kafkonia's fault.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that they might be a Tindalosi in disguise.”