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[personal profile] mrissa
That last entry now sounds a bit testy in my own ears. I'm sorry if I was cranky at you folks. I don't feel it, just a bit worn. Book kicking my butt. Rest of life offering many rewards and a few concerns, some of which are fairly immediate.

But hey, I've got the Olympics. [livejournal.com profile] timprov theorizes that if, say, slalom kayaking and women's saber fencing were on ESPN2 every weekend, I'd never want to watch them. He's probably right. But having a dose of unusual sports once every four years is about right. Even if it does feature Shut-Up-Bob Costas. (If only we lived far enough north to watch on CBC....)

When I was in junior high, we watched the Olympics with one of my best friends at the time, and when the people she didn't like would figure skate, she would shout, "Fall on your butt! Fall on your butt!" I don't want that. I don't want my favored athletes to win because of bad luck on someone else's part. I want them to be more inventive in their tumbling, to find a burst of speed at the end of the race, to be better, not to win by default. Rivalries that trickle off are no fun at all. This is why fantasy writers have climactic battles of good and evil in the first place: because evil losing because it steps wrong and sprains its ankle at a crucial moment is just not any fun to watch. (Or to write about.)

Fun to write about. I'd like to find that in the home stretch of Sampo. Here's hoping, I guess.
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