some thoughts from yesterday which I wrote down
I have images, and characters, but no stories - nothing for them to do, or say, except what is in their character - no changes, all static, yet rounder than the world itself...
I have a deep secret, and like a rose champagne it is effervescent yet corked, neatly bottled but unimaginably strong, clear and pure and sweet and blushing, but at the same time the bottle is dark green, sad and stunted and sickly, until it is told to people and poured into celebratory flutes, to bubble and fizz with all happiness.
sun goes in and out, cloudy she is stagnant and stolid, dependable and practical, at the sun she feels something warm within her and she runs away into the light-dappled meadow to bask like a lizard.
what truths, overarching themes, values, statements, philosophies, are in the heavens and earth, that they do not fit with Horatio? what is the more? someone needs to begin that conversation, which will not end till all men know what comes to them after death - the last oaken door.
last, lost, lonely, forlorn, sad, cloudy, mists, haze
without - separated - missing, incomplete.
modern and medieval, Gothic and cliched and romantic
old, nothing new or fresh or original... some say there are only ten plots in the world. man vs man, man vs machine, man vs society, man vs God, man vs nature, man, vs himself, man vs forces/feelings (duty, boredom, rage, love, et cetera), man vs woman, man vs mediocrity (status, expectations, et cetera), man vs fate (failure, death, et cetera). that's what I can think of anyway... some seem as though they can fit under others, but are distinct enough to be separate.
what would the Red Book be when it becomes a reality? both Damien and Mina need to grow, change, mature, develop...
Damien is at first angry, lonely, driven by a self-imposed duty, maybe I should make character sheets for them so I can have a better sense of who they are.
I look at sun streaming through clouds and think of strange similes, but nothing profoundly original - or even those components. I feel, but it is as nothing, or rather something that has no describing words not because it is the commonly-used "indescribable" but because nothing fits whatsoever.
=^.^=
I have a deep secret, and like a rose champagne it is effervescent yet corked, neatly bottled but unimaginably strong, clear and pure and sweet and blushing, but at the same time the bottle is dark green, sad and stunted and sickly, until it is told to people and poured into celebratory flutes, to bubble and fizz with all happiness.
sun goes in and out, cloudy she is stagnant and stolid, dependable and practical, at the sun she feels something warm within her and she runs away into the light-dappled meadow to bask like a lizard.
what truths, overarching themes, values, statements, philosophies, are in the heavens and earth, that they do not fit with Horatio? what is the more? someone needs to begin that conversation, which will not end till all men know what comes to them after death - the last oaken door.
last, lost, lonely, forlorn, sad, cloudy, mists, haze
without - separated - missing, incomplete.
modern and medieval, Gothic and cliched and romantic
old, nothing new or fresh or original... some say there are only ten plots in the world. man vs man, man vs machine, man vs society, man vs God, man vs nature, man, vs himself, man vs forces/feelings (duty, boredom, rage, love, et cetera), man vs woman, man vs mediocrity (status, expectations, et cetera), man vs fate (failure, death, et cetera). that's what I can think of anyway... some seem as though they can fit under others, but are distinct enough to be separate.
what would the Red Book be when it becomes a reality? both Damien and Mina need to grow, change, mature, develop...
Damien is at first angry, lonely, driven by a self-imposed duty, maybe I should make character sheets for them so I can have a better sense of who they are.
I look at sun streaming through clouds and think of strange similes, but nothing profoundly original - or even those components. I feel, but it is as nothing, or rather something that has no describing words not because it is the commonly-used "indescribable" but because nothing fits whatsoever.
=^.^=