. . . and you know you should be glad.
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A good song for bad times . . .
[Via Ray Sawhill]
This contemporary sign is a goof on an old Texas legend. As the war for Texas independence was gathering steam in the 1840s, the Mexican general and dictator Santa Anna sent a canon to a small Texas town to help its residents fight the insurgents, but the town joined them instead. Santa Ana demanded the the return of the canon and the town sent him back a message — “Come and take it.”
The insurgents made up flags honoring the incident, and the phrase became a rallying cry.
You still see the emblem all over Texas today, a symbol of the true Texan’s resistance to tyranny. Texas men have not lived up to the emblem, as shown by their ugly attempts to control women’s bodies through state power, but the ladies of Texas still get it.
As I mentioned earlier, I got off to a good start on my short novel Circus but about 3,000 words in I ran into a problem. I realized that my plan to use a first-person narrator wasn’t going to work, because I needed scenes that my narrator couldn’t possibly have known about.
This was discouraging, since I’d already discovered a voice for the narrator that I was comfortable with. I tried to fudge my way out of it, by suggesting that my narrator was telling us about things he learned of later, but it felt false.
So I started revising what I’d written as a third-person narrative. It wasn’t as difficult as I’d imagined and I’m now forging ahead from where I left off.
And so it goes . . .
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In my short novel Circus, the band plays this song as it marches off the circus train just after its arrival in Wichita, Kansas in 1935.
2,200 words into a short novel that will probably run to 27,000 words. It’s a story I’ve had in mind for a while — a tale of the big top, of the golden age of the great American circus trains, in the 1930s.
After a couple of days of work on it, I feel a certain amount of momentum gathering in the narrative, and I know where it’s going — both good signs.
So I created a cover for it, to make it seem more real, forced myself to stop writing and fixed a nightcap to keep me away from the keyboard — I can’t write when I’m drinking.
Writing is a tiresome business most of the time — but it has its moments, like this one, when I feel excited about getting back to it tomorrow.
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The first of the Godfather films cost 6 million dollars and has to date grossed 133 million dollars, making it one of the most profitable films of all time. It was the highest-grossing film in its year of release and in adjusted dollars it’s among the top 25 highest grossing films in the history of movies.
Its sequel, The Godfather Part II, cost 13 million dollars and has to date grossed 57 million dollars. It was the fifth most successful film in its years of release. Not in the same box-office league as its predecessor, but it has still earned the studio which made it a clear profit of at least 13 million dollars on an investment of 13 million dollars. In most businesses, that would qualify as a killing.
The Godfather Part II is one of the greatest of all films. It is intelligent, impeccably crafted, visually stunning, profound in its insight into American culture — and wildly entertaining. The idea that an intelligent, impeccably crafted, profound, visually stunning film could be a high-grossing film today is an almost surreal fantasy. The film came out 40 years ago. 40 years is a long time, but it’s not that long a time.
What has happened to Hollywood, to our culture, in those four decades? Has there ever been a more complete and more catastrophic collapse of values, virtue and taste in the whole history of human civilization — apart from cultures ravaged by war or financial apocalypse?
This is a subject worthy of the most serious meditation.
Meanwhile, the Blu-ray edition of The Godfather Part II belongs in every civilized home.
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