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Wait. THREE different projects: NaNoWriMo book, HOOD, and Wangsty Dracula. And the goddamn Muse wants a FOURTH.

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My goddamn brain. Now that I'm juggling two different projects and have no time, a whole new book has crawled in and taken up residence.

The idea of a vampire businessman who pays his taxes because he might be suffering the torments of hell but he prefers that to being audited delights me.

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My god this wangsty vampire just said "Of Death and taxes, only Death is negotiable," and I think I've fallen in love with this character now.

Listening over and over to Linda Ronstadt singing "Desperado". I don't know what book wants this, but okay.

Of course this means I'll have to watch North & South again, too, in order to hear Richard Armitage growl "Look back a'me..."

I won't find it a hardship.

(And I can rewind it as many times as I like without wearing out a tape. WE LIVE IN THE FUTURE, AND I AM PLEASED.)

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Some days, I do declare, that particular smoulder makes me regret giving up men.

But then I gain my senses again, and am glad both for its existence and my own particular freedom.

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I love living in the future, when I can speed through BBC's Pride & Prejudice to find Colin Firth's particular smoulder at Jennifer Ehle, while Miss Georgiana plays.

Achieved wordcount on one, exactly one project today.

Some days you win, some days you lose, some days the victory is that you didn't heave the entire desktop out the window.

"The announcement of Bowman’s candidacy for sainthood excited many Catholics who are familiar with her dogged pursuit of justice and equality."

"I don’t blame people that they don’t know anything about this kind of architecture; in several years they surely will."

"Look," Wong seems to be saying, "you never know what that person on the street is suffering, you never know their private heartbreak."

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...this has been Lunchtime Cinema with Lili. Now I've got to get back to work.

(Please do not ever tell me Wong Kar-wai is an asshole like Zhang Yimou, please, please please please, my heart can't take it.)

Every scene of a Wong film feels like voyeurism, but a very particular brand of empathetic, non-titillating voyeurism.

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Frex, in FALLEN ANGELS when The Killer meets the Blond Girl in a deserted McDonald's, or in Chungking Express when Sunglasses Woman is in the station and realizes she's been had.

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I also love how in Wong Kar-wai movies, the more public the setting around the characters, the more internal and private the action is.

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Ragged Feathers

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