The lonely life of a comics writer…
I’ve just been outside to pick up supplies for another all night writing session (crunchy carrots, Lucozade and a Boost/Guarana bar) and had to walk past pubs and bars full of people out having fun.
I’d totally forgotten it was Friday.
(It’s OK – don’t feel too sorry for me. I was out last night after all).
Might nip out later and catch the midnight showing of Hellboy at my local cinema tonight.
27 days until my 27th birthday… I feel like Indiana Jones in that scene where he’s running away from the enormous, speeding boulder.
With the added horror of the cello sound from Jaws.
27 is way too close to 30 for my liking. And by the time you’re thirty you’re supposed to be doing all sorts of proper things like getting married and owning property... And not writing comic books.
I hope Hellboy’s good or else I’ll feel pissed off at using up three hours of quality writing time.
If it is crap - and you end up seeing it - make sure you check out Mike Mignola's original comic, which is top notch.
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