I spent about an hour today trying to churn out the next chapter in the story I'm working on, and it all went swimmingly enough. When I got stuck trying to decide how Leading Lady would react to Main Character's latest splurge of self-deluded garbage, I tried to reflect on the scene as a whole and develop what her mood would be like up to that point. On the one side, it seemed a little out of character for him to just open his mouth and spew forth all of this verbal diarrhea without shame, and it was definitely not like her to just stand there and take it.
In the end, I scrapped the scene and started again, but it ended up the same way. I went back further and further to see where I deviated from cannon, but I didn't find it. What I did find (not entirely sure how I forgot) was a very lengthy chapter of Main Character drinking with Supporting Male and brooding.
GOD!
It makes sense now, that is EXACTLY what Main Character would do in that situation! No wonder I couldn't get anything else out, he wouldn't let me! That's actually kind of scary in a way. Main Character has become so real in my mind that he just acts and I try to keep up. Does anyone else have that problem?
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
That fucking painting.
Lee is the kind of guy who is always quizzing my nerdom. Like I have something to prove! Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but it almost feels like he’s trying to question my elite geek status. Kind of narcissistic, right? Maybe I’m just a sore loser, but I don’t think it takes away any of my credibility as a nerd if I don’t know the opening theme to this anime or that. I am a geek of varying traits, I am not an expert in any of the various media I enjoy. I’m just so competitive that I want to be the best. At everything I do. I feel attacked when he gives me a pop quiz on the Walking Dead comic versus HBO production.
Tonight was one of those nights. As usual when spending any amount of time at Mallory’s, we were pretty baked, and for whatever idea I was stuck on, I felt so excited! Whatever this thought was (again, as usual, lost in the colander that is my memory) I was pumped about it. Talking to the group isn’t really something I do, so I suppose what Lee saw was me sitting in the corner of the bed, getting more and more volatile.
“calm down” he said, pointing at the painting behind my head. “do you see the town? its what my Dad called the ‘town test’ ”. What the fuck does that mean? He was trying to tell me that this painting he cherished as a sign of his sophistication and intelligence only had one way of perceiving it, which was I can assume, a town. Now don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t some folksy novelty trash you pick up at a garage sale when you’re driving through Cape Breton. It was absolutely lovely and yeah, I guess I could see a town in it (which apparently still wasn’t right anyway) but for some reason it reminded me more of a huge steamboat floating duskily across a wide river. It made me feel like there should be a presence of alcohol and playing cards.
There aren’t any right or wrong answers when it comes to feeling. When did it become a secondary function to thinking? It seems to me that more and more, there is a pull away from physical body and a heavy crutch on consciousness. We are not discorporal beings of thought, we are apes. Stinking, fucking, bleeding apes! I think that’s why “Gargantua” was on the reading list for FYP. With all of that weight of ideas on us, it was nice to have awareness of my own broad shoulders made of bone and muscle that could withstand it.
Sometimes I forget, but I am human.
Tonight was one of those nights. As usual when spending any amount of time at Mallory’s, we were pretty baked, and for whatever idea I was stuck on, I felt so excited! Whatever this thought was (again, as usual, lost in the colander that is my memory) I was pumped about it. Talking to the group isn’t really something I do, so I suppose what Lee saw was me sitting in the corner of the bed, getting more and more volatile.
“calm down” he said, pointing at the painting behind my head. “do you see the town? its what my Dad called the ‘town test’ ”. What the fuck does that mean? He was trying to tell me that this painting he cherished as a sign of his sophistication and intelligence only had one way of perceiving it, which was I can assume, a town. Now don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t some folksy novelty trash you pick up at a garage sale when you’re driving through Cape Breton. It was absolutely lovely and yeah, I guess I could see a town in it (which apparently still wasn’t right anyway) but for some reason it reminded me more of a huge steamboat floating duskily across a wide river. It made me feel like there should be a presence of alcohol and playing cards.
There aren’t any right or wrong answers when it comes to feeling. When did it become a secondary function to thinking? It seems to me that more and more, there is a pull away from physical body and a heavy crutch on consciousness. We are not discorporal beings of thought, we are apes. Stinking, fucking, bleeding apes! I think that’s why “Gargantua” was on the reading list for FYP. With all of that weight of ideas on us, it was nice to have awareness of my own broad shoulders made of bone and muscle that could withstand it.
Sometimes I forget, but I am human.
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