Tags
Once upon a time there was a Writer who stopped writing. She’d finished the third book in her trilogy (Wisdom Court, that is), and almost as if a switch had been thrown, her Brain nestled into the overstuffed chintz chair now crowding the small sitting room in her head where, nearby, a nice cup of tea was steaming. Noting her lack of arms, the Brain signaled the Writer, who reached for the TV remote. “Merde,” muttered the Brain.
“I wonder what’s on the telly,” sighed the Brain. (There was no explanation for her cozy English accent.)
Lots of things were on the telly. MSNBC news programs; Call the Midwife; Bosch; John Wick movies; Law and Order reruns; TNT-chopped versions of The Hunger Games; the Kevin Bacon collection. Netflix and Amazon and Hulu were crawling with movies and edgy comedy and eye glazing sophistication. And horror. The Brain overdosed on 911.
Tons of books presented themselves: Louise Penny’s Inspector Armand Gamache books; Lawrence Block books (even a new Matt Scudder!); Bruce Most and Cassie Miles and Douglas D. Hawk books; Nora Roberts books; Charlaine Harris books. The Mueller Report. Becky Clark books.
The Brain grew fat and slow, pickled with distractions. “It’s all research,” she averred as the Writer’s fingers lost their agility and the Brain’s ability to spell suffered. “I’ll be so ready when I return to my oeuvre.” At the slow, sloppy thought, the Writer raised a brow, which she’d never been able to do before, but nothing came of it.
As summer finally took hold, the Writer began to pull a Camille, finding pots in the basement, buying plants to put in them. Tending her garden aroused a thin hope for A Better Way in the Brain, and the flood of books and films and television shows slowed to a trickle.
Came the day when the Writer looked inward, when she saw the fragile Brain struggling from the grip of the overstuffed chintz chair. “We’ll resuscitate the blog,” the Brain whispered, no trace of British accent to be heard.
Tears welled in the Writer’s eyes. “We’ll get back out there. We’ll think of something to write about.”
They decided to celebrate with a nice cup of tea.
So today I’ll remind you of one of the very best of the frightening standalone episodes the series had: “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose,” about a psychic whose gift is the ability to see how people will die. The late Peter Boyle played this character with grace and melancholy, and the writing and directon by Darin Morgan and David Nutter are both creepy and morbidly humorous. It remains one of the most human of the series episodes–what, after all, is more human than death?
