Sometimes you just have to batter away at the keyboard until something grabs you. At this particular moment I am just desperate to write but cannot find anything that sustains me for more than four lines. Good ideas yes, but they are not electric, and I need them to be electric, to have surges that compel me to find out what is going on in their minds, to write until I understand them, but all that is there is blank.
Blank can be good of course because that means there are no limits, but too much choice makes decisions hairy fairy.
Now there’s a thought from a typo, The Hairy Fairies. Hirsute fairies in pink tutus, with underarm hair, and hairy legs …now that is just plain weird. Fairies of Eastern European origin with names like Helga and Olga who are scoffing so many steroids that they cannot get off the ground? Perhaps they just want to live here, better working conditions, escaping persecution by the size zero fairies. They are just working class fairies with families to feed, now there is another question how do you get a fairy pregnant? And what do they have, baby fairies? fairy eggs? And whose the daddy fairy? - Olaf the fairy sounds like an oxymoron and quite possibly libellous! Mmm… Not a genre that I would normally pursue but there might be something… twisted admittedly, but perhaps worth chasing…
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Ramblings of a self obsessed person
I am lonely, right now, on the net, scrabbling at random pages, because I am bored. Why? I could get leathered into my next course and try and steal a march on my classmates, but that’s not what I really want to do. 301 will wait and that’s ok.
I need to find patience, it is there somewhere but I do not recognise it. So I am poodling -doodling with the pc-allowing my wild insides to vent as it were, not sure why I need to do this but I do. A story is forming of sorts and I wonder what else is there, experience tells me its best to relax and let it ambush me; hopefully I will have paper and pen handy when it does!
Right now I feel genre lost…There is a poem somewhere at the back of my mind but it is too immature to work on yet, the poem I was working on is finished -for the moment, it may have more stanzas and that is just scary because it started life at 24 lines and now it is 42.
It is not an amazing poem or even particularly well formed or original or anything much. Just that it was the first poem I wrote, or I showed anyone. Even though I knew the mid section was shite, it was to me at any rate a poem, and that made it special. The problem with special is that it becomes sacred and is set on a make-believe pedestal, and that makes it hard to touch, no matter what I do with it I will never recapture that first feeling of pride, something I created from my mind, an imperfect dream. When I first read it out loud in a writing class all those years ago, I could hear that it was ‘off’ but it did not stop me. But once I showed it, I could not change it, I lost the power, my critics liked its rawness that’s what worked for them, so I left it alone until I started A215, where I submitted it as my TMA0. I promised myself that once 215 was finished I would try to edit it, and I have, kind of.
I am not satisfied, why? Because I knew the original so well? Or because I feel that I have snuck behind my critics back and changed it and have done so essentially in secret? I have done it without permission. I am afraid now to reveal it in its new form, for fear that it just does not measure up to the originals zest. This is something I will overcome with my cape of hard skin, harvested from my smelly feet- (yeuch!! Totally gross image sorry guys!) Anyway how and when I have yet to work out- Do I risk it all and reveal the before and after, or just the new one. Well the answer is I do it a step at a time. This is all very self serving really a bit like life writing.
Life writing is in my mind at the moment and one story is poking hard, but I have done a lot of life writing of late...so what about fiction then?…well its there slowly festering and waiting for the grand TA! DA! moment, but it too is not quite ready, so what has happened is this. I have a spare hour, a free pc and peace and quiet and unless I do something ‘productive’ I will feel as if I have wasted this time, so here I am typing for no other reason than I physically have to. Contemplating my navel as it were. Is this really the essence of blogging, the unabashed ramblings of a somewhat self obsessed persona? Probably!!
Hope you all had a good one
I need to find patience, it is there somewhere but I do not recognise it. So I am poodling -doodling with the pc-allowing my wild insides to vent as it were, not sure why I need to do this but I do. A story is forming of sorts and I wonder what else is there, experience tells me its best to relax and let it ambush me; hopefully I will have paper and pen handy when it does!
Right now I feel genre lost…There is a poem somewhere at the back of my mind but it is too immature to work on yet, the poem I was working on is finished -for the moment, it may have more stanzas and that is just scary because it started life at 24 lines and now it is 42.
It is not an amazing poem or even particularly well formed or original or anything much. Just that it was the first poem I wrote, or I showed anyone. Even though I knew the mid section was shite, it was to me at any rate a poem, and that made it special. The problem with special is that it becomes sacred and is set on a make-believe pedestal, and that makes it hard to touch, no matter what I do with it I will never recapture that first feeling of pride, something I created from my mind, an imperfect dream. When I first read it out loud in a writing class all those years ago, I could hear that it was ‘off’ but it did not stop me. But once I showed it, I could not change it, I lost the power, my critics liked its rawness that’s what worked for them, so I left it alone until I started A215, where I submitted it as my TMA0. I promised myself that once 215 was finished I would try to edit it, and I have, kind of.
I am not satisfied, why? Because I knew the original so well? Or because I feel that I have snuck behind my critics back and changed it and have done so essentially in secret? I have done it without permission. I am afraid now to reveal it in its new form, for fear that it just does not measure up to the originals zest. This is something I will overcome with my cape of hard skin, harvested from my smelly feet- (yeuch!! Totally gross image sorry guys!) Anyway how and when I have yet to work out- Do I risk it all and reveal the before and after, or just the new one. Well the answer is I do it a step at a time. This is all very self serving really a bit like life writing.
Life writing is in my mind at the moment and one story is poking hard, but I have done a lot of life writing of late...so what about fiction then?…well its there slowly festering and waiting for the grand TA! DA! moment, but it too is not quite ready, so what has happened is this. I have a spare hour, a free pc and peace and quiet and unless I do something ‘productive’ I will feel as if I have wasted this time, so here I am typing for no other reason than I physically have to. Contemplating my navel as it were. Is this really the essence of blogging, the unabashed ramblings of a somewhat self obsessed persona? Probably!!
Hope you all had a good one
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