Blood sacrifice made but, more importantly, on the drive in, listening to The White Stripes, three ideas: One, that I want to take more of a songwriting approach to writing my weird shit by which I mean a more write it and move approach; I love the feel of things like that sound like a creative explosion – The Beatles's White Album, the oeuvre of Jack White, etc – and less a polished thing (novels, screenplays, etc). Second, I shouldve made a five year plan in the vein of Cal Newport’s SLOW PRODUCTIVITY ten years ago; better late than never, I suppose. And finally, I really fucking hate this switch back to cold because my blood sugar is out of control and it pisses me off which makes it even more out of control. But, ah, matcha: that stuff really is great.
While it’s not without its moments of greatness (Wood, Colan, etc) and always possessed of something special, the more I read of the pre-Miller DAREDEVIL, the more amazed I am that the book stayed in print for the 14-15 years between DD’s creation and Miller's defining of the character: doubtful we’d’ve made it to the red costume had he been created in today’s publishing milieux.
Need to recognize that I'm really playing outside my normal wheelhouse, going for what I've always wanted to do (even if I didn’t know it), and that it's going to take time. Let it: it will come to me. Probably.