Things that get me in the mood to travel:
Time alone and Hounds of Love.
To celebrate, here's a sentence that I wrote on the back of one of the GCI posters that we used under the carbon copies at work. Yeah, I should have been working:
"Nevada was a crematorium that burned slow, waiting for her to rest, to die, to crumble back to dust and blow away with the sand, mixed into tumbleweeds and swallowed by vultures."
It's from Secret of the Clockwork Mouse (or the second name I think of).
So I was out the other night and went to my friend Tiger's house to talk and drink rum. She was doing homework for her poetry class, and for the first time this summer I got to really talk about literature and what I thought art was, and aestheticism. I mean, it's not like talking about the election all the time is bad, but it reminded me that my true love is literature, and that I totally belong in a place where I can talk about it. And that place will be where I am Monday, or tomorrow if I'm lucky.
I'm going back to Vancouver!! I hope that my housemates aren't bastards. I hope that my landlord isn't an asshole. I hope I can reserve the TV for the debates and the election and the occasional movie night, and that I can have people over, and that my friends from PDX come visit at least once per person, and that I don't run out of money two months in, because that will be a problem. I hope I get a job somewhere close enough that has decent hours, and I hope that I have enough free time to enjoy my last year there. And for fuck's sake, I hope I see Okkervil River. I'd better fucking go see them.
Anyway, I have to get to packing. It's taken me about three hours to pack one bag...oy. Vey.
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative writing. Show all posts
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Breaking it Down
...And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.
Wordsworth
So today I'm going to seriously start being serious about Secret of the Clockwork Mouse, and I'm started to do some revisions of the drafts for the earlier chapters. Here's how I've broken down what my work schedule is gonna look like for the next three months:
1 page single-spaced (helvetica font)=approx. 600 words
1 chapter=8-10 pages single-spaced=4800-6000 words
36 chapters=288-360 pages single-spaced=172,800-216,000 words total
12 weeks=14,400-18,000 words per week=2057-2571 words per day
Ready steady go! Based on how I usually write fiction, that's about three to five hours a day, depending on how motivated, rested, inspired, and generally smart I am. I'm plastering my walls with chapter summaries and writing out full character bios and descriptions, as well as location descriptions. I still have research to do, especially in reference to Atlantic City and money at the time, but I don't think that'll be a problem now that I'm in the states.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Find that dappled dream of yours, come back and see me when you can
I'm back in Portland, after one last wet but wonderful day in London and a couple of cramped but uneventful and decent flights. I'm back, and things already feel like I never left, and I hate that. By the end of today the afterglow of "I was in Europe yesterday" has faded away, and now it just feels like I never really left. It's the house and the room and the people never changing that much, not having friends who just want to hear you tell stories about your trip, so on and so on. I know that I always sound terribly depressed whenever I talk about being home; the way I always describe it is that I suddenly have to sit in the backseat, which just feels wrong after spending all that time taking care of myself and getting out of some shitty situations. Last night when I got in dad asked me:
"So can you believe that it's over?"
"No," I said. "but I still can't believe that I got through everything, I mean, it was tough."
"Haha. Yeah." He mocked picking up a phone with his hand."'Mom, dad, can you put more money in the account pleeeeeeeeaaase?'"
Anyway, that's basically how things have gone so far, but it's only been a day. This weekend is the Rose Parade and the Ballet, and then mom's birthday. By next week I hope to have some prospects of a job. My goals for the summer so far are:
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Bridget in Atlantic City. Meets Michael. He tells her suchandsuch, magic is a lie, la la la.
BEGIN FLASHBACK ARC
Chapter 2
Three years earlier
Bridget at home in Missouri with family. Description of family life, etc.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
Some sort of community event (dance? something like that) where she sits with Michael, hint hint he’s shallow. Hint hint so is her family. Michael gives her a book or something that he thought was “pretty”.
Chapter 4
Two days later
Reads book, it blows her mind, tries to explain it but no one gets it, first real solid inkling of wanderlust.
Chapter 5
One day later
Has a sort of existentialist breakdown, makes plans to leave Missouri.
Chapter 6
One week later
Leaves Missouri. Is awkward but determined. Stays in a couple towns, locations TBD
Chapter 7
One week later
Gets into Chicago, creepy hotel, finds Gimbal poster and enough money for a ticket, decides to go, goes and sits down. MEANWHILE, Gimbal gets all pissy about performing, thinks about his wife leaving him, et cetera.
Chapter 8
That day
Performance. She’s blown out of the water. Sneaks down to the front of the theatre to try and see the magic stuff. Gimbal takes a liking to her, decides to take her on as a road assistant since she has nothing to do. Bridget goes back to hotel, meets other guest and tells her about new career as a magician’s assistant.
Chapter 9
Two weeks later
On the road. Learning tricks. Shows a serious knack for illusions. Gimbal lets her on as an assistant, first show, big success, she’s found a place where she belongs, la la la.
Chapter 10
Three months later
A few months later, she and Gimbal are BFFs, though he seems suspicious of her. She is probably falling in love with him, more or less. Tour has moved to Atlantic City, Gimbal gets a contract to play a show there every night for a month. A few days into the show a clockwork mouse breaks, he gives it to Bridget to fix. She does, and the next day he is gone. The theatre manager says that she will have to complete Gimbal’s performances, or else the company will owe everything back to the theatre. She does, and of course it’s spectacular.
END FLASHBACK ARC
PART TWO
Chapter 11
Two and a half years later
With Michael gone after saying that magic sucks, Bridget is totally bummed. She is up on her extended contract, so she closes the show and saves the money, while getting odd jobs on the boardwalk, like working at a soda fountain. Spends her extra time trying to figure out magic tricks without the aid of props. Notices cute blonde girl (May) sitting outside the Psychic booth across from the soda fountain.
Chapter 12
Two months later
Rainy day, May comes in to the soda fountain. She and Bridget get to talking. She reveals how she’s too scared to know her fortune but she still wants to find out anyway, she was a former winner of the Miss America contest a year back but has fallen into obscurity and stayed on the boardwalk anyway. More magic practice.
Chapter 13
Five days later
More flirting, more magic practice. Bridget has been trying to stay awake in order to make her unconscious more active in her conscious life (she doesn’t say it that way though). The girls go out to dinner and get cozy, there’s a kiss before Bridget passes out from exhaustion.
Chapter 14
The next day
Bridget wakes up in May’s room. Awkwardness followed by making up, just-being-friends attitude. Bridget thinks that she has enough to start rehearsing a stage show. May confesses about her financial woes to Bridget, and Bridget decides to let her stay in the guest room of her apartment.
Chapter 15
Three weeks later
Couple weeks later. Still working on magic act, quits soda fountain job and May takes her place there. They are living pretty cozily, though still just friends. MEANWHILE May finally gives in to her curiosity and goes to see the psychic. The old woman gives her a reading and tells her about her fear, lack of self-esteem, and says that it is all caused by a blockage to her heart (she doesn’t say it that way though). May comes home a bit half-crazed and shaken by the reading, Bridget comforts her and they just end up, well, you know.
Chapter 16
One month later
Happy couple-time! Though they don’t think of themselves as a couple. La la la, they’re still happy and all so that’s good. Bridget is ready for the magic act, and May is eager to be an assistant. So they rehearse a bit and everything seems to go fine. May keeps going back to the psychic, but doesn’t tell anyone what she hears there, though the readings seem to disturb her slightly.
Chapter 17
The next day
First performance of new show. Blows people away, but Bridget loses control of herself, accidentally setting the stage on fire and nearly killing May. May gets put in the hospital and then comes home, does not blame Bridget but still seems shaken by the event. Bridget, totally obsessed with her own guilt and disturbed by her own ability, leaves in the middle of the night.
PART THREE
Chapters 18-23
The next six months
Letters organized by month from Bridget to May. Describe the places that that she visits, the people she encounters, and especially the revelations that she finds and the new acts of magic that she is able to perform. Letters get more and more lovery-dovey emotional and confused and less logical and straightforward as time goes on, but not too much yet...these first five months are still mostly dominated by reason.
Chapter 24
A few days after the last letter
Returns to Missouri. Her family is overjoyed to see her, and don’t seem to be angry at her for leaving, especially since she has found her own success. She meets Michael again and he doesn’t realize even when she tells him just what an impact he has made to her life. He is only a few days away from getting married, so her family insist that she stay for the wedding.
Chapter 25
Three days later
Bridget has spent the last couple days trying to reconnect with home and she can’t really do that. She opts to leave in the middle of the night before the wedding so that she won’t get stuck. Her father finds her about to leave and tells her how hard it actually was for them the first time, and that it was wrong of her to leave them. However he does not object to her leaving this time, and they have a generally loving father-daughter moment before she goes off.
Chapters 26-28
The next three months
More letters from Bridget to May, explaining her reactions to the family visit. The letters are more manic, more emotionally written. Bridget begins to convey a real sense of love for May, and expresses how much she misses her and how wrong she feels in leaving. The magic becomes bigger and more abstract, suggesting that Bridget’s abilities go beyond the simple manipulations she thought she could do.
Chapter 29
The day after the last letter
In Las Vegas, Bridget finds a man fallen in the gutter, drunk and ill. When she realizes that it is Gimbal, she takes him to the hospital and then rents him a room to rest in. He explains to her how he lost most of his money, became alcoholic, got arrested for attacking his ex-wife’s husband. Explains more about their relationship before the divorce, how she was an assistant that cheated and left him.
Chapter 30
One week later
In taking care of Gimbal, Bridget has rekindled her affection towards him. Though he is still not well, he seems happy to see her. Finally, she asks him why he left. He replied that he was both afraid of her abilities and wanted her to have opportunities for herself without the influence of another magician. He explains how what she does isn’t illusions, but real honest-to-god magic, because she thinks that it is real and that somehow makes it real. He proves this by showing her the clockwork mouse that she fixed all those years ago. The inside of the mouse is still in shambles and doesn’t seems to be capable of working, and yet the mouse works better than any of the clockwork ones. He admits that he has always loved her, but that he also supports her relationship with May, and tells Bridget that she should go back to her. A few days later he is dead.
Chapter 31
Two days later
After sorting out Gimbal’s affairs, Bridget writes one letter to May, declaring that she is finally going to Los Angeles, but that she wants to come back to Atlantic City as soon as she has visited LA, but only if May will let her come back. She begs forgiveness, summarizes her trip and her meeting with Gimbal, explains how she feels about May.
PART FOUR
Chapter 32
One week later
Bridget arrives in LA. Finds place to stay. Should echo her first day in Chicago, though now she is more worldly. Gets a hotel room, wanders around, sees the Jazz Singer, explores around the studios, hears the name Mary Camden thrown around as she is apparently a former beauty queen and a new starlet. At the hotel she learns that a woman had come to see her, but did not leave a name, just a message asking her to stay in her room in the earlier parts of the next day.
Chapter 33
The next day
Bridget waits as per instruction. The woman who shows up is May, who moved to LA ahead of Bridget, knowing that she was going to be going there, and had her mail forwarded from Atlantic City. She did not get the last letter about Gimbal yet, so Bridget tells her, and May is at first cool with her, but then forgives her, though their relationship seems platonic at this point. MEANWHILE May goes back to her new Beverly Hills home and reads the Tarot cards that the psychic woman gave her when she left Atlantic City.
Chapter 34
Three days later
Bridget and May go out to lunch while she is shooting her new film. May suggests that Bridget use her skills in motion pictures in order to create special effects. Bridget explains in more detail to May just what she is capable of. May seems interested but also concerned for Bridget, and is secretly afraid that Bridget’s obsession about controlling her abilities is nothing more than an excuse to not stay in one place at a time.
Chapter 35
One week later
Bridget has her audition at the studio, after rehearsing her “effects” for the past week to make sure that they will be safe and work in a studio. The studio heads are stunned by what she can do, and offer a handsome paycheck, with the exception that she will be credited under a pseudonym, Herman Waite (Gimbal’s real name). Bridget and May go out to celebrate Bridget’s success, and spend the night together. Two days later, Bridget moves into May’s apartment.
Chapter 36
Three months later
Bridget is living happily, occupied both with her new job at the studio and her newly renewed relationship. She still practices the magic privately, but is no longer intimidated by it. She seems to have influence over most of the elements around her. MEANWHILE, pressure from the studio department forces to May to lie somewhat about her relationship with Bridget, and to create a pseudo-romance with her current co-star.
Chapter 37
Two months later
Bridget is still kept busy, but is feeling jealous of May’s co-star, especially since publicity seems to require him to come over to their house often, as well as be at every event or dinner that they attend. Bridget asks May if her getting her own house would help to ease the pressure from publicity, to which May reluctantly agrees. Bridget buys a house down the street from May’s. The two discuss how, when May’s contract expires in a few months, they could find a few investors and executives in order to fund their own studio that would exclusively feature Bridget’s effects.
Chapter 38
Three months later
The two women have found a few backers for their studio, and have scouted out locations for it in Beverly Hills. On the eve of May’s contract expiring and the night of the wrap party for the film that her and her fake boyfriend starred in together, Bridget has a crisis of conscience. She goes to May’s house and when she’s not there, Bridget waits for her to come back by randomly setting out the deck of tarot cards that May keeps on her table. The results seem to show that she is destined to be alone, so she panics and goes home to pack her things for another journey.
Chapter 39
The next day
May, having figured that Bridget was at her house the night before, confronts Bridget just as she is finishing her preparations for leaving. She begs Bridget to stay, but Bridget refuses, saying that her magic is still too dangerous to fund an entire studio for, that May would be happier with her fake boyfriend, that her life would be easier if Bridget wasn’t an active part of it, and that she is destined to be alone. May replies by bluntly declaring her love for Bridget, and that she can only be destined to be alone if she allows herself to. Bridget replies that her feelings are the same, but that she is still to worried about herself to be with someone. May replies that she’s staying with her anyway. The two agree to go to Europe or something for a few months while the studio is being constructed.
Next thing to do is character summaries! Then fleshing out the chapters. Those letters are gonna be hard to write.
"So can you believe that it's over?"
"No," I said. "but I still can't believe that I got through everything, I mean, it was tough."
"Haha. Yeah." He mocked picking up a phone with his hand."'Mom, dad, can you put more money in the account pleeeeeeeeaaase?'"
Anyway, that's basically how things have gone so far, but it's only been a day. This weekend is the Rose Parade and the Ballet, and then mom's birthday. By next week I hope to have some prospects of a job. My goals for the summer so far are:
- Get a job
- Make money
- Save 90% of the money I make
- Write a novel
- Read Ulysses
- Find a good place to live in Vancouver
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Bridget in Atlantic City. Meets Michael. He tells her suchandsuch, magic is a lie, la la la.
BEGIN FLASHBACK ARC
Chapter 2
Three years earlier
Bridget at home in Missouri with family. Description of family life, etc.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
Some sort of community event (dance? something like that) where she sits with Michael, hint hint he’s shallow. Hint hint so is her family. Michael gives her a book or something that he thought was “pretty”.
Chapter 4
Two days later
Reads book, it blows her mind, tries to explain it but no one gets it, first real solid inkling of wanderlust.
Chapter 5
One day later
Has a sort of existentialist breakdown, makes plans to leave Missouri.
Chapter 6
One week later
Leaves Missouri. Is awkward but determined. Stays in a couple towns, locations TBD
Chapter 7
One week later
Gets into Chicago, creepy hotel, finds Gimbal poster and enough money for a ticket, decides to go, goes and sits down. MEANWHILE, Gimbal gets all pissy about performing, thinks about his wife leaving him, et cetera.
Chapter 8
That day
Performance. She’s blown out of the water. Sneaks down to the front of the theatre to try and see the magic stuff. Gimbal takes a liking to her, decides to take her on as a road assistant since she has nothing to do. Bridget goes back to hotel, meets other guest and tells her about new career as a magician’s assistant.
Chapter 9
Two weeks later
On the road. Learning tricks. Shows a serious knack for illusions. Gimbal lets her on as an assistant, first show, big success, she’s found a place where she belongs, la la la.
Chapter 10
Three months later
A few months later, she and Gimbal are BFFs, though he seems suspicious of her. She is probably falling in love with him, more or less. Tour has moved to Atlantic City, Gimbal gets a contract to play a show there every night for a month. A few days into the show a clockwork mouse breaks, he gives it to Bridget to fix. She does, and the next day he is gone. The theatre manager says that she will have to complete Gimbal’s performances, or else the company will owe everything back to the theatre. She does, and of course it’s spectacular.
END FLASHBACK ARC
PART TWO
Chapter 11
Two and a half years later
With Michael gone after saying that magic sucks, Bridget is totally bummed. She is up on her extended contract, so she closes the show and saves the money, while getting odd jobs on the boardwalk, like working at a soda fountain. Spends her extra time trying to figure out magic tricks without the aid of props. Notices cute blonde girl (May) sitting outside the Psychic booth across from the soda fountain.
Chapter 12
Two months later
Rainy day, May comes in to the soda fountain. She and Bridget get to talking. She reveals how she’s too scared to know her fortune but she still wants to find out anyway, she was a former winner of the Miss America contest a year back but has fallen into obscurity and stayed on the boardwalk anyway. More magic practice.
Chapter 13
Five days later
More flirting, more magic practice. Bridget has been trying to stay awake in order to make her unconscious more active in her conscious life (she doesn’t say it that way though). The girls go out to dinner and get cozy, there’s a kiss before Bridget passes out from exhaustion.
Chapter 14
The next day
Bridget wakes up in May’s room. Awkwardness followed by making up, just-being-friends attitude. Bridget thinks that she has enough to start rehearsing a stage show. May confesses about her financial woes to Bridget, and Bridget decides to let her stay in the guest room of her apartment.
Chapter 15
Three weeks later
Couple weeks later. Still working on magic act, quits soda fountain job and May takes her place there. They are living pretty cozily, though still just friends. MEANWHILE May finally gives in to her curiosity and goes to see the psychic. The old woman gives her a reading and tells her about her fear, lack of self-esteem, and says that it is all caused by a blockage to her heart (she doesn’t say it that way though). May comes home a bit half-crazed and shaken by the reading, Bridget comforts her and they just end up, well, you know.
Chapter 16
One month later
Happy couple-time! Though they don’t think of themselves as a couple. La la la, they’re still happy and all so that’s good. Bridget is ready for the magic act, and May is eager to be an assistant. So they rehearse a bit and everything seems to go fine. May keeps going back to the psychic, but doesn’t tell anyone what she hears there, though the readings seem to disturb her slightly.
Chapter 17
The next day
First performance of new show. Blows people away, but Bridget loses control of herself, accidentally setting the stage on fire and nearly killing May. May gets put in the hospital and then comes home, does not blame Bridget but still seems shaken by the event. Bridget, totally obsessed with her own guilt and disturbed by her own ability, leaves in the middle of the night.
PART THREE
Chapters 18-23
The next six months
Letters organized by month from Bridget to May. Describe the places that that she visits, the people she encounters, and especially the revelations that she finds and the new acts of magic that she is able to perform. Letters get more and more lovery-dovey emotional and confused and less logical and straightforward as time goes on, but not too much yet...these first five months are still mostly dominated by reason.
Chapter 24
A few days after the last letter
Returns to Missouri. Her family is overjoyed to see her, and don’t seem to be angry at her for leaving, especially since she has found her own success. She meets Michael again and he doesn’t realize even when she tells him just what an impact he has made to her life. He is only a few days away from getting married, so her family insist that she stay for the wedding.
Chapter 25
Three days later
Bridget has spent the last couple days trying to reconnect with home and she can’t really do that. She opts to leave in the middle of the night before the wedding so that she won’t get stuck. Her father finds her about to leave and tells her how hard it actually was for them the first time, and that it was wrong of her to leave them. However he does not object to her leaving this time, and they have a generally loving father-daughter moment before she goes off.
Chapters 26-28
The next three months
More letters from Bridget to May, explaining her reactions to the family visit. The letters are more manic, more emotionally written. Bridget begins to convey a real sense of love for May, and expresses how much she misses her and how wrong she feels in leaving. The magic becomes bigger and more abstract, suggesting that Bridget’s abilities go beyond the simple manipulations she thought she could do.
Chapter 29
The day after the last letter
In Las Vegas, Bridget finds a man fallen in the gutter, drunk and ill. When she realizes that it is Gimbal, she takes him to the hospital and then rents him a room to rest in. He explains to her how he lost most of his money, became alcoholic, got arrested for attacking his ex-wife’s husband. Explains more about their relationship before the divorce, how she was an assistant that cheated and left him.
Chapter 30
One week later
In taking care of Gimbal, Bridget has rekindled her affection towards him. Though he is still not well, he seems happy to see her. Finally, she asks him why he left. He replied that he was both afraid of her abilities and wanted her to have opportunities for herself without the influence of another magician. He explains how what she does isn’t illusions, but real honest-to-god magic, because she thinks that it is real and that somehow makes it real. He proves this by showing her the clockwork mouse that she fixed all those years ago. The inside of the mouse is still in shambles and doesn’t seems to be capable of working, and yet the mouse works better than any of the clockwork ones. He admits that he has always loved her, but that he also supports her relationship with May, and tells Bridget that she should go back to her. A few days later he is dead.
Chapter 31
Two days later
After sorting out Gimbal’s affairs, Bridget writes one letter to May, declaring that she is finally going to Los Angeles, but that she wants to come back to Atlantic City as soon as she has visited LA, but only if May will let her come back. She begs forgiveness, summarizes her trip and her meeting with Gimbal, explains how she feels about May.
PART FOUR
Chapter 32
One week later
Bridget arrives in LA. Finds place to stay. Should echo her first day in Chicago, though now she is more worldly. Gets a hotel room, wanders around, sees the Jazz Singer, explores around the studios, hears the name Mary Camden thrown around as she is apparently a former beauty queen and a new starlet. At the hotel she learns that a woman had come to see her, but did not leave a name, just a message asking her to stay in her room in the earlier parts of the next day.
Chapter 33
The next day
Bridget waits as per instruction. The woman who shows up is May, who moved to LA ahead of Bridget, knowing that she was going to be going there, and had her mail forwarded from Atlantic City. She did not get the last letter about Gimbal yet, so Bridget tells her, and May is at first cool with her, but then forgives her, though their relationship seems platonic at this point. MEANWHILE May goes back to her new Beverly Hills home and reads the Tarot cards that the psychic woman gave her when she left Atlantic City.
Chapter 34
Three days later
Bridget and May go out to lunch while she is shooting her new film. May suggests that Bridget use her skills in motion pictures in order to create special effects. Bridget explains in more detail to May just what she is capable of. May seems interested but also concerned for Bridget, and is secretly afraid that Bridget’s obsession about controlling her abilities is nothing more than an excuse to not stay in one place at a time.
Chapter 35
One week later
Bridget has her audition at the studio, after rehearsing her “effects” for the past week to make sure that they will be safe and work in a studio. The studio heads are stunned by what she can do, and offer a handsome paycheck, with the exception that she will be credited under a pseudonym, Herman Waite (Gimbal’s real name). Bridget and May go out to celebrate Bridget’s success, and spend the night together. Two days later, Bridget moves into May’s apartment.
Chapter 36
Three months later
Bridget is living happily, occupied both with her new job at the studio and her newly renewed relationship. She still practices the magic privately, but is no longer intimidated by it. She seems to have influence over most of the elements around her. MEANWHILE, pressure from the studio department forces to May to lie somewhat about her relationship with Bridget, and to create a pseudo-romance with her current co-star.
Chapter 37
Two months later
Bridget is still kept busy, but is feeling jealous of May’s co-star, especially since publicity seems to require him to come over to their house often, as well as be at every event or dinner that they attend. Bridget asks May if her getting her own house would help to ease the pressure from publicity, to which May reluctantly agrees. Bridget buys a house down the street from May’s. The two discuss how, when May’s contract expires in a few months, they could find a few investors and executives in order to fund their own studio that would exclusively feature Bridget’s effects.
Chapter 38
Three months later
The two women have found a few backers for their studio, and have scouted out locations for it in Beverly Hills. On the eve of May’s contract expiring and the night of the wrap party for the film that her and her fake boyfriend starred in together, Bridget has a crisis of conscience. She goes to May’s house and when she’s not there, Bridget waits for her to come back by randomly setting out the deck of tarot cards that May keeps on her table. The results seem to show that she is destined to be alone, so she panics and goes home to pack her things for another journey.
Chapter 39
The next day
May, having figured that Bridget was at her house the night before, confronts Bridget just as she is finishing her preparations for leaving. She begs Bridget to stay, but Bridget refuses, saying that her magic is still too dangerous to fund an entire studio for, that May would be happier with her fake boyfriend, that her life would be easier if Bridget wasn’t an active part of it, and that she is destined to be alone. May replies by bluntly declaring her love for Bridget, and that she can only be destined to be alone if she allows herself to. Bridget replies that her feelings are the same, but that she is still to worried about herself to be with someone. May replies that she’s staying with her anyway. The two agree to go to Europe or something for a few months while the studio is being constructed.
Next thing to do is character summaries! Then fleshing out the chapters. Those letters are gonna be hard to write.
Friday, February 15, 2008
So I lied about updating?
Nothing enough happens here to update about, and I'm not the type that blogs about the mundane. I did that on Livejournal. I'm all grown up now.
If you want a summary, look at this:
Yep, that's me, and that's my room: the glorified storage locker that is Mary Chapman Court, Flat 6, Room B. I hope to heck that I don't die here, because if I do, then I am going to haunt the most depressing place to haunt on this plane. And if you were wondering, yes, those ARE oil pastels that I painted on the wall! How kind of you to notice! The first one I made was of Morgan Le Fey.
See? She's wearing a red dress with an apple tree on it!! I rock at symbolism, and I rule at being addicted to mythology. This is an obvious thing, especially because I list myself as an Archetypicalist*, and because I refer to events in life or feelings by what tarot card they relate to best.
The second picture is of Eros and Psyche, and it took me way too long to finish, and used too much pastel, so now my black is shorter than ever. The one above it, which you can only see a little bit of, is a work in progress.
I think that the most important thing to talk about is that I've added two writing projects to my schedule. The first is a novel, the first that I've ever planned. It's about a young woman in the 1920s, who becomes a magician in Atlantic City. There's a lot of magical realism and some fantasy in it, but for the most part I want it to be about her and her struggles to figure out the magic that she's trying to master (hint: it's real magic), while also painting a portrait of some sort of American sensibility. Here's a couple extracts or what I've got so far:
......
Not bad, right? By the way, Bridget Alcyone is the main character. I'm doing research about the golden age of magic and so on, and am actually enjoying reading a book called Hiding the Elephant by Jim Steinmeyer. It's not a very difficult book to read, but it's got plenty of information about magic and magicians and, more importantly, illusions and how they were made. The book itself is pretty well outlined for the initial stage, so I think it can be done by the end of this summer if I manage to get more researh done. It's also making me want to take a few magic lessons, which would be fun to look into.
The second project isn't completely mine. For a while now Amanda and I have been looking into the mythology and culture of the American South, and now we're decided that to create a series of American Faerie Stories would be pretty cool. It would be a gradual thing--I don't have anything done yet--and like I said, it's a collaboration project. But it's something to think about. No idea when or if it'll be finished, but I love the idea so I don't mind.
So now I've got Archer, Bridget (whatever the title is I haven't decided yet) and the Southern stories, plus whatever other short stories I write in the meantime. I wish more than anything that they end up, you know, making me money, or at least the pride of being published.
That's it for now, until the next random time that I decide to update; perhaps I'll take a few pictures with my webcam when I take the computer to UEA Tuesday.
Oh, and Henry Smutton liked my Persephone story, and so far I'm pretty confident in saying that, if it isn't the best of the best so far in the class, it's at least very close to the top.
*on Facebook
If you want a summary, look at this:
Yep, that's me, and that's my room: the glorified storage locker that is Mary Chapman Court, Flat 6, Room B. I hope to heck that I don't die here, because if I do, then I am going to haunt the most depressing place to haunt on this plane. And if you were wondering, yes, those ARE oil pastels that I painted on the wall! How kind of you to notice! The first one I made was of Morgan Le Fey.
See? She's wearing a red dress with an apple tree on it!! I rock at symbolism, and I rule at being addicted to mythology. This is an obvious thing, especially because I list myself as an Archetypicalist*, and because I refer to events in life or feelings by what tarot card they relate to best.
The second picture is of Eros and Psyche, and it took me way too long to finish, and used too much pastel, so now my black is shorter than ever. The one above it, which you can only see a little bit of, is a work in progress.I think that the most important thing to talk about is that I've added two writing projects to my schedule. The first is a novel, the first that I've ever planned. It's about a young woman in the 1920s, who becomes a magician in Atlantic City. There's a lot of magical realism and some fantasy in it, but for the most part I want it to be about her and her struggles to figure out the magic that she's trying to master (hint: it's real magic), while also painting a portrait of some sort of American sensibility. Here's a couple extracts or what I've got so far:
They got hot dogs and knee-highs from a stand on the boardwalk the next day and ate them on a bench nearby. The surf whispered under their feet, Maybelle was wearing a white dress with red poppies embroidered on the hem and neckline with black patent leather shoes, Bridget felt dowdy in her pleated skirt and good blouse, which was ivory and had a bow in the front that the wind kept pushing dangerously close to the mustard that dangled from her hot dog. She wore a black hat, Maybelle’s head was bare and her ringlets waved proudly in the breeze.
“I’d like to tell myself that I was just too pretty for the pageant,” she was saying. “Those judges just didn’t know what to do, and that made them too scared to give me the crown.” She laughed at herself and looked at her lap. “But I know that’s not really what happened, anyway. But I like to think that.”
“Well you are very beautiful,” Bridget said, and felt stupid immediately. She was starting to realize that with Maybelle she was a new sort of nervous. She had been nervous when she talked to police officers, or Gimbelli, or her parents, or her landlady, but this was different. She didn’t want Maybelle to get up and walk away.
Maybelle thanked her quietly for the comment and smiled squintingly in the sunlight. Bridget felt more confident. She finished her hot dog and wiped off her hands. “ ‘Ere,” she said, swallowing. “Watch this.” She held her left palm in front of Maybelle, showing both sides. “See? Empty.” She flicked her fingers quickly, and a new silver dollar glinted between her middle and forefinger. She reached over with her right hand and took the coin in her fist. Then she opened her right hand. It was empty.
Maybelle smiled coyly. “I’ve seen that trick, it’s still in your other hand.”
Bridget opened her left hand. Empty. She looked around on the ground, apparently flabbergasted at the coin's dissapearance, then her eyes settled on the side of Maybelle’s face. She grinned and reached behind Maybelle’s ear, retrieving the shining silver dollar.
“Very nice. But I’ve seen that one too. It’s all those hand tricks magicians use.” Maybelle crossed her arms, looking proud of herself for figuring out the illusion.
Bridget looked crestfallen, but only for a second. “Oh,” She said, “I missed one.” Then she reached behind Maybelle’s other ear and pulled out a second silver dollar, holding it next to the first one in her palm. Then she pulled out another. And another. Six silver dollars materialized out of Maybelle’s hair until Bridget finally sighed with exasperation and ran her fingers through Maybelle’s chestnut ringlets, and a shower of silver fell onto the bench and the ground around them.
Maybelle opened her mouth and raised her eyebrows in suprise. Bridget winked, and immediately felt stupid, but Maybelle laughed. “With all those dollars, you should be buying me dinner.” Her skirt was fluttering perfectly, and her lips were red an curved up at the edges, a smile full of friendship and secrets.
......
Herman Gimbal Waite, who called himself the Great Gimbelli until the day he died, had very little about his face or figure that would earn him his assumed title and his renown as a magician. He refused to ever speak of his date or place of birth, though in 1923 most who knew him or knew of him would tell you that he was, at that time, between forty-five and fifty-three years old, and was born and raised somewhere in Ohio. Some claimed that he knew the flyers, Orville and Wilbur Wright, but this was most likely a rumor that he himself planted so that he could have more intrigue around his version of the Levitation trick, which would make his assistant fly circles around the stage, complete with her arms outstretched like airplane wings.
He was not a tiny man, but of no significant stature; but his insecurities about this would make him wear tall shoes while on stage, so as not to be diminished by any female guests or assistants (this happened on several occasions when he was first performing in vaudeville, and it made him blush so much that the ladies would be wrongly flattered). He parted his hair down the middle and waxed it down, though a coffee-colored curl would pop up every now and then, and his mustache was one of the most humble in the business: a simple triangle of hair that stretched to the corners of his lips, which he kept well trimmed. In fact, the Great Gimbelli was quite dashing as soon as he got the hang of performing, and got tailored suits that showed off his slender form, and white gloves that he somehow kept perfectly spotless, and a pair of wire glasses that were the perfect silver to match his perfect blue eyes. To say that he was vain as well is no understatement, Gimbelli was a conjuror and was sure that he had the same effect on women (and, more than likely, certain men) that he did on the coins he would pull out of the air, or the doves he would produce out of hats and tailcoat pockets: they would come to him when he wanted them.
Of course, do not let any of these vanities fool you. Gimbelli was, first and foremost, a fantastically good illusionist. He would not give credit to his inventions and innovations to some secret dead religion or culture, there was no mysterious Sphinx, no Indian Rope Trick, no Alexander The Great’s Vanishing Sword or Solomon’s Magic Flute or any of the other “two-bit foppery” in his act: it was all him. When he spoke about his tricks, he spoke in a strange poetry or mystery and beauty, talking not of old gods and kings but of the cosmos, and fate, life and death, and the inside of the soul and the mind. And few spectators believed it more than Bridget Alcyone.
Not bad, right? By the way, Bridget Alcyone is the main character. I'm doing research about the golden age of magic and so on, and am actually enjoying reading a book called Hiding the Elephant by Jim Steinmeyer. It's not a very difficult book to read, but it's got plenty of information about magic and magicians and, more importantly, illusions and how they were made. The book itself is pretty well outlined for the initial stage, so I think it can be done by the end of this summer if I manage to get more researh done. It's also making me want to take a few magic lessons, which would be fun to look into.
The second project isn't completely mine. For a while now Amanda and I have been looking into the mythology and culture of the American South, and now we're decided that to create a series of American Faerie Stories would be pretty cool. It would be a gradual thing--I don't have anything done yet--and like I said, it's a collaboration project. But it's something to think about. No idea when or if it'll be finished, but I love the idea so I don't mind.
So now I've got Archer, Bridget (whatever the title is I haven't decided yet) and the Southern stories, plus whatever other short stories I write in the meantime. I wish more than anything that they end up, you know, making me money, or at least the pride of being published.
That's it for now, until the next random time that I decide to update; perhaps I'll take a few pictures with my webcam when I take the computer to UEA Tuesday.
Oh, and Henry Smutton liked my Persephone story, and so far I'm pretty confident in saying that, if it isn't the best of the best so far in the class, it's at least very close to the top.
*on Facebook
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Vignette 2: Kate
When she sits in class, during the middle of an awful lecture about history or philosophy, Kate likes to set her chin on the desk in from of her and open her mouth until her jaw locks in place, and then wait for a few seconds and let it shut again so that her back molars hit with a dull click. She does it over and over. She flexes her toes in her socks in her sneakers, which are dirty and the left one has a rip in the side from the day when she thought she could walk on a thin wall and slid off, her shoe scraping along the jagged stone (it’s called conchina, a wall made of sharp hardened shells and sand in St. Augustine, where she lived as a child). she hit the wall with the inside of her left thigh, she had a bruise there for weeks that was yellow and made her afraid to wear a bathing suit (as if she needed another reason. There is not a single sixteen-year-old girl who has actual emotions that wants to wear a bathing suit), and she would forget it whenever she crossed her legs at dinner, knee over knee, and she winced but kept sitting that way anyway. She always liked looking like the martyr, like those men who walked away from duels victorious and approached their lady love with bloodstains growing under their waistcoats but a proud, pained smile. Physically, Kate looks like neither the Hero or the Lady Love. Her hair is limp and could be gold if she cared enough to let it glitter, and she keeps going between keeping it skull short and letting it fall across her back, so right now it looks very much like unplanned and indecisive hair that sits in choppy lengths between he chin and her shoulders. Her face is a pouting sort of face, and her eyes are tired, her ears are uninteresting. Sometimes she wears makeup and it’s a terrible mistake where her sea foam green eyes don’t match up and her lips look fat and out of place, like they were scotch taped on, and she resembles, mostly, a porcelain doll that was painting in the dark by a slightly drunk artist. When she does not wear makeup, she is likable, almost pretty, though when she smiles she tends to look more exhausted than excited. She wears the same pair of jeans that she’s worn for three or four years, and unstimulating but flattering tops that are comfortable enough for slumping, which is what she does when she’s around people who make her feel very small, which is almost everyone. The people who make her feel like herself, who is not small at all but moderately tall for her age, are the ones that make her want to walk atop walls, and go swimming in her clothes, or swing her legs in her chair and smile like she means it, and she goes running when she’s all alone, and she doesn’t bother to buy “running shoes” or “jogging pants” but goes in her school clothes with wrinkles from slumping still in her shirt. Right now, though, Kate isn’t thinking of running, because her legs feel like those big stalks of kelp that she saw in the aquarium in Monterray, where she lives now, because she is currently noticing for the seventh time this semester how handsome the back of The Boy Who Sits Three Rows And Two Seats To The Left’s neck is, because it curves like a hill in an Ansel Adams picture, and his hair is always trimmed so neatly. He’s the sort of attractive man that she’s sure she should fall in love with, the sort of man who should save her from getting hit by a bus or from falling off a balcony. Right now, Kate’s eyebrows are cringing with the realization that, if she were to swoon dramatically in class, then she would not be able to see the definitely devastated look of concern on The Boy Who Sits Three Rows And Two Seats To The Left’s face as she lay, her mismatched hair making an straw-colored halo around her suddenly much prettier and dramatic visage, one hand cradling her head and one arm back, her legs crumpled under her, all the room paying attention to the girl who, around Other People was quiet, but still proudly bore the shadow of a bruise on her inner thigh and had countless other scars from when she had dared to vault the small but frightening mountains of her life.
You say you want a.....resolution? Vignette 1: Proserpine
Okay. So I know that it's almost a month too late to make a New Year's resolution, and this isn't really a full year one so I don't know if it'll count, but I'm better at making immediate resolutions anyway (i.e.: Buy Some Q-Tips, Go To Sleep Before 4 AM). So here goes: since I'm supposed to be work shopping in my Creative Writing course constantly, and it looks like I'll be put on the spot pretty regularly, I might as well write often to keep in practice, like jogging before the New York City Marathon if you aren't already Katie Holmes. So, once a day if I can, I am going to write one Vignette. In this case, a Vignette is a short written piece that focuses on character and setting descriptions as opposed to plot, and is usually a part of a larger story. It can have a general Beginning, Middle, and End, but usually I'll write something short and sweet that doesn't really go anywhere, just exercises my language skills. They are all going to be approximately one page, single spaced, give or take, say, five lines. They can be about anything I want, but I'd like to create a new character or place per day, just to see how far I can get before I scratch my head and repeat myself. The Vignettes will be named after the character or setting that is most prominently described in the piece. Like I said, this might not last all year, since I'm in Creative Writing for only 5 months and by the time I get out I might be able to confidently and completely work on Archer full-time (meaning without any side projects or distractions), so for now this is just to keep me in practice.
And after doing two days of it and two weeks of Creative Writing, it actually feels wonderful. Since my Literature classes aren't very difficult this year, I can focus pretty much all of my efforts on writing fiction for the first time in a long, long time. That, plus the general discontent of being here, is pushing me to write often. So I'll post the first Vignette here, and then after this the vignette entries will be titled and have the excerpt and nothing else. Here we go:
Proserpine lights another cigarette. The lighter makes her face a tiny portrait of a round nose and the bottom of two unfocused eyes that water as a spiderstring of smoke curls under them. Then it is dark. The glow worm of the cigarette tip flies in long circles; mouth to waist to chest to chin, to mouth. Two long puffs of smoke come out of her nostrils. Proserpine (her mother had called her Proserpina, it was prettier but it made her feel like a cut flower) leans back in the stone chair. She is going to do something we would call magic, but this was a time before magic (I know what you will say, the cigarette is there because she wanted it and it became). She puts out the smoke-it was burning her two fingers in their middle joint-and pulls one long, pale finger through the air. Something that was not light but still glowed, deep violet, trailed it. If it was brighter in her room you would see the flicker of a smile, but this is hell and there is no illumination here. Wails try to permeate the stone, but she has learned to be deaf, and the stone is as thick as she wants it to be. The purple glow becomes a solid circle, like a mirror before her invisible face. The circle is hardly any bigger than her torso, but to us, who have minds smaller than proserpine’s smallest thoughts, it is larger than the world and holds life in its image. There is a field of wheat and wildflowers. Proserpine sits more comfortably, pulling up the legs of her blue jeans (they are like the cigarette, do you see now how that works?) and she watches. A girl walks through the field, her breasts still growing and awkward under her linen robe (‘why did i let her dress me like that’, proserpine mutters to herself as she lights another cigarette). Te girl is, what, fourteen? fifteen? It is really thousands of years, of course, but she was not allowed to age into anything more than she was. You are a lady of Spring, you will be young as a lamb and fresh as rain. That is the way of things. Behind her are ghostly maidens, in white, with baskets, pulling flowers out of the ground without hesitance and crowning themselves with them, digging them out and cutting off the unattractive roots and forgetting that the flowers will soon be wilting and dead and limp on their pretty golden heads. The girl with earthy red hair and a fourteen-year-old form leans down to pull up a delicate red poppy, but there is a man. Proserpine leans forward. There is a man, dressed in black that is almost blue, with proud pale shoulders and a long lordly beard (he is a King in his own world). The girl turns, her waist moving in a way that is obviously unfamiliar to her fourteen-year-oldness. He has reached out to her, there is a red stone on his finger. Proserpine twists the same ring on her own hand, now, unconsciously. She inhales harder on her cigarette, and the smoke mixes with the purple mirror-world for a moment, dissipating the scene, but Proserpine won’t let it fade, Not yet. She’s almost to the part she wanted to see. There. The man is looking at her. His eyes are impossibly deep, you could throw a penny into one and never hear it land. Another drag of the cigarette lights up her face. Proserpine’s eyes have become the same. There. He has touched the girl, and she stand straight, now she is three years older, at least, her back arches and her lips move forward expectantly. He is touching her waist and something that we would call desire sets the girl’s red hair on fire. Then the man does something we would call magic, and the ground opens and swallows them, the man and the girl who is now a woman are gone into the abyss of the underworld. The maidens who are nothing more than fancy and imagination are screaming “Proserpina! Proserpina!” but there is no answer. They drop their flowers back to the ground and the stems are scattered like bones. Proserpine waves her free hand and the violet smoke-mirror is gone and darkness clings to her again. She knows how the story will end, and for a moment, as she licks her lips, she tastes pomegranate and does not regret.
And after doing two days of it and two weeks of Creative Writing, it actually feels wonderful. Since my Literature classes aren't very difficult this year, I can focus pretty much all of my efforts on writing fiction for the first time in a long, long time. That, plus the general discontent of being here, is pushing me to write often. So I'll post the first Vignette here, and then after this the vignette entries will be titled and have the excerpt and nothing else. Here we go:
Proserpine
Proserpine lights another cigarette. The lighter makes her face a tiny portrait of a round nose and the bottom of two unfocused eyes that water as a spiderstring of smoke curls under them. Then it is dark. The glow worm of the cigarette tip flies in long circles; mouth to waist to chest to chin, to mouth. Two long puffs of smoke come out of her nostrils. Proserpine (her mother had called her Proserpina, it was prettier but it made her feel like a cut flower) leans back in the stone chair. She is going to do something we would call magic, but this was a time before magic (I know what you will say, the cigarette is there because she wanted it and it became). She puts out the smoke-it was burning her two fingers in their middle joint-and pulls one long, pale finger through the air. Something that was not light but still glowed, deep violet, trailed it. If it was brighter in her room you would see the flicker of a smile, but this is hell and there is no illumination here. Wails try to permeate the stone, but she has learned to be deaf, and the stone is as thick as she wants it to be. The purple glow becomes a solid circle, like a mirror before her invisible face. The circle is hardly any bigger than her torso, but to us, who have minds smaller than proserpine’s smallest thoughts, it is larger than the world and holds life in its image. There is a field of wheat and wildflowers. Proserpine sits more comfortably, pulling up the legs of her blue jeans (they are like the cigarette, do you see now how that works?) and she watches. A girl walks through the field, her breasts still growing and awkward under her linen robe (‘why did i let her dress me like that’, proserpine mutters to herself as she lights another cigarette). Te girl is, what, fourteen? fifteen? It is really thousands of years, of course, but she was not allowed to age into anything more than she was. You are a lady of Spring, you will be young as a lamb and fresh as rain. That is the way of things. Behind her are ghostly maidens, in white, with baskets, pulling flowers out of the ground without hesitance and crowning themselves with them, digging them out and cutting off the unattractive roots and forgetting that the flowers will soon be wilting and dead and limp on their pretty golden heads. The girl with earthy red hair and a fourteen-year-old form leans down to pull up a delicate red poppy, but there is a man. Proserpine leans forward. There is a man, dressed in black that is almost blue, with proud pale shoulders and a long lordly beard (he is a King in his own world). The girl turns, her waist moving in a way that is obviously unfamiliar to her fourteen-year-oldness. He has reached out to her, there is a red stone on his finger. Proserpine twists the same ring on her own hand, now, unconsciously. She inhales harder on her cigarette, and the smoke mixes with the purple mirror-world for a moment, dissipating the scene, but Proserpine won’t let it fade, Not yet. She’s almost to the part she wanted to see. There. The man is looking at her. His eyes are impossibly deep, you could throw a penny into one and never hear it land. Another drag of the cigarette lights up her face. Proserpine’s eyes have become the same. There. He has touched the girl, and she stand straight, now she is three years older, at least, her back arches and her lips move forward expectantly. He is touching her waist and something that we would call desire sets the girl’s red hair on fire. Then the man does something we would call magic, and the ground opens and swallows them, the man and the girl who is now a woman are gone into the abyss of the underworld. The maidens who are nothing more than fancy and imagination are screaming “Proserpina! Proserpina!” but there is no answer. They drop their flowers back to the ground and the stems are scattered like bones. Proserpine waves her free hand and the violet smoke-mirror is gone and darkness clings to her again. She knows how the story will end, and for a moment, as she licks her lips, she tastes pomegranate and does not regret.
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