Yes! 
I finally started writing!. I've had this story in me for at least 9 months gestating (kinda like a baby perhaps). I had grown more and more attached. At first exploring the potential for the symbolism of its various elements, which in my mind touch upon some very broad and basic abstractions.
Then as I desired to get down to writing this story, which amazingly would never grow old or stale within me (the desire or the story), I became concerned with the style or voice and how that would manifest itself.
I considered writing it in a terse form and then elevating it to a style but I wasn't satisfied that it would be the correct approach because, even though I had a general idea of most of the turn of events, with this approach the style could not inform the pace and direction of actions that lead into these larger events. These smaller segues were the all essential foreplay for the gist of the story's larger turns.
So I concluded that it I needed to be evoked by a real experience, some kind of memory, image, sound, sense, or writing, strip that of its real world identity until it too was an abstraction and then remold it into the virtual world of words and synthetic narrative.
I spent a few days when I wasn't obsessed with work and maintenance obligations, and with non-obligatory relationships, trying to get ready to find an evocation and go into this trance with it.
How I would focus this meditation on the requirements of the story was not certain so I wasn't addressing the issue. It didn't matter what piece I was writing or how specifically it could fit with something I had already imagined. I can sew pieces into the work. It would fit into the general attitude of the work, thats all I had to consider.
I wrote just a couple dozen sentences but the point is that they were pure. The were not written through a filter of a struggling writer self. The editor was left out of the party, seeing as for me the editor is quite a saboteur. The words were simply imagination unleashed with great faith.
The editor has a very small part to play. The imagination has the lead role.
I'm happy!
So I closed up after a bit. Its like sword swallowing. You get your muscles to relax to down a dagger even if for 15 minutes finally and you are tired. But I now have a valid muscle memory. In the future I may be able to swallow a giant Scottish double-edged broad sword.
Wish I could share more about the story.
So in compensation I will share with you a poem excerpt written by Richard Loeb of the infamous Loeb and Leopold, the wealthy Nietzschean ubermensch secretly gay lovers that in 1924 killed a 13 year old boy as a thrill to see if they could commit the perfect crime and as an exercise in "surpassing man" and his moral limits. They were later represented by Clarence Darrow when they were caught.
Wicked but in mind worthy of some respect, as villains anyway, in that there were radical thinkers. The most dangerous kind of villain, and certainly the potentially the best kind of hero if different choices had been made. Perhaps to love instead of to kill.
Evil is simply a byproduct of freedom. Someone is bound to take the lowest road. Its the type of freedom they employed not the choice they made with it that fascinates me.
Adoration. An Excerpt
Long past the pulse and pain of passion,
Long left the limits of all love,--
I crave some nearer, fuller fashion,
Some unknown way, beyond, above,--
Some infinitely inner fusion,
As Wave with Water; Flame with Fire,--
Let me dream once the dear delusion
That I am You, Oh, Heart's Desire!
I finally started writing!. I've had this story in me for at least 9 months gestating (kinda like a baby perhaps). I had grown more and more attached. At first exploring the potential for the symbolism of its various elements, which in my mind touch upon some very broad and basic abstractions.
Then as I desired to get down to writing this story, which amazingly would never grow old or stale within me (the desire or the story), I became concerned with the style or voice and how that would manifest itself.
I considered writing it in a terse form and then elevating it to a style but I wasn't satisfied that it would be the correct approach because, even though I had a general idea of most of the turn of events, with this approach the style could not inform the pace and direction of actions that lead into these larger events. These smaller segues were the all essential foreplay for the gist of the story's larger turns.
So I concluded that it I needed to be evoked by a real experience, some kind of memory, image, sound, sense, or writing, strip that of its real world identity until it too was an abstraction and then remold it into the virtual world of words and synthetic narrative.
I spent a few days when I wasn't obsessed with work and maintenance obligations, and with non-obligatory relationships, trying to get ready to find an evocation and go into this trance with it.
How I would focus this meditation on the requirements of the story was not certain so I wasn't addressing the issue. It didn't matter what piece I was writing or how specifically it could fit with something I had already imagined. I can sew pieces into the work. It would fit into the general attitude of the work, thats all I had to consider.
I wrote just a couple dozen sentences but the point is that they were pure. The were not written through a filter of a struggling writer self. The editor was left out of the party, seeing as for me the editor is quite a saboteur. The words were simply imagination unleashed with great faith.
The editor has a very small part to play. The imagination has the lead role.
I'm happy!
So I closed up after a bit. Its like sword swallowing. You get your muscles to relax to down a dagger even if for 15 minutes finally and you are tired. But I now have a valid muscle memory. In the future I may be able to swallow a giant Scottish double-edged broad sword.
Wish I could share more about the story.
So in compensation I will share with you a poem excerpt written by Richard Loeb of the infamous Loeb and Leopold, the wealthy Nietzschean ubermensch secretly gay lovers that in 1924 killed a 13 year old boy as a thrill to see if they could commit the perfect crime and as an exercise in "surpassing man" and his moral limits. They were later represented by Clarence Darrow when they were caught.
Wicked but in mind worthy of some respect, as villains anyway, in that there were radical thinkers. The most dangerous kind of villain, and certainly the potentially the best kind of hero if different choices had been made. Perhaps to love instead of to kill.
Evil is simply a byproduct of freedom. Someone is bound to take the lowest road. Its the type of freedom they employed not the choice they made with it that fascinates me.
Adoration. An Excerpt
Long past the pulse and pain of passion,
Long left the limits of all love,--
I crave some nearer, fuller fashion,
Some unknown way, beyond, above,--
Some infinitely inner fusion,
As Wave with Water; Flame with Fire,--
Let me dream once the dear delusion
That I am You, Oh, Heart's Desire!
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
Oh wait. You had on a different outfit, and the pics were before the one I took of Katy driving. You must have done that when Claremarie babysat our cameras for us. How cute.
[Edited on Oct 18, 2004 10:37AM]
i like the way you think about writing. reflexivity is always cool. the manner in which you are not only considering the story itself, but the medium in which to transfer it ... i just like that. it makes me tingle. i know that when i write (which is not fiction), its similar: what is the argument? what is the best structure? what is the evidence? the planning seems so key.