far too emotional and i lack sensibility
Wordcount: 112,785. Pages: 360.
Okay, you know how I'm reading Rupert Thomson's Five Gates Of Hell at the moment? And how I had actually bought it years ago and kept forbidding myself to read it until just before I began this novel so it could sort of bless it and influence it but not to the extent where I'm plagiarising it?
Well, I didn't read it before I began this novel in November. (Ha, I just remembered Rupert Thomson's a Scorpio and I'm pretty sure his birthday is in November.) Mainly because I didn't want to get so inspired by him that I'd throw my entire plot out the window and go off on some speculative fictive tangent. Which, you know, already struggling with one novel in that realm, thanks ver' much!
What? Right, yes. So didn't read it before. Didn't read it during November. Didn't start reading it until a few weeks ago when I just gave in and plunged, so eager to be in his language again. Chabon had just badly disappointed me with an attempted re-read of Mysteries Of Pittsburgh so naturally I turned to Rupert to make me feel better.
And um, this week I discovered that Rupert Thomson, subtle scarily elegant sexy Scorpio writer that he is, only went and gave one of his protagonists a kink that I didn't even realise Sean had until I found myself writing it and that was squicky enough!
*sigh*
Thank fuck I discovered Sean's kink, planned it out, wrote it out, moved on from it before I picked up Five Gates Of Hell. The only problem is a couple of days ago I was thinking that perhaps that kink should be revisited just so we know it wasn't a one-off. And now I'm so damned afraid it's going to be like I am plagiarising Rupert. Never mind comparing what I've written to what he's written and wondering if I've gone far enough, written it right enough and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhh!
God, it was so freaky reading his scenes. So fucking surreal, man. It would have been compelling, anyway. But jesus, the added dimension of that writer mirror. Quaking in my boots. Half tearful, half fearful. And all the while wanting to hit either him or me. Oooh!
Quandary much. *gloomy*
That aside, the scene I wrote today kinda turned out marvellously even though I had the most pedestrian beginning, knew generally which points I wanted to hit, and had absolutely no sex planned. What eventuated was just all kinds of funny, ominous, tender and then searingly hot, so much so even I was blushing as I was writing it out.
Yeah, no, I'm not one of those writers who actually gets turned on by the sex I'm writing. The actual process is not sexy at all, it's atrociously hard work, so much so I'm always shatteringly exhausted when I finish the scene. But this, because it was totally unplanned and spontaneous, was kinda making my hair stand. *lol*
Mind you, there was one bit of conversation I didn't get to include which maybe I'll go back and see if it can work. At the time, I thought maybe it'd fit in later. But now I'm wondering if that was a little too generous and maybe I should just try and see.
Tomorrow.
And ha, I discovered both Sean and Cary's favourite movies, got some hilarious dialogue happening which now has got me worrying again about whether they talk too much. I mean, honestly, them two. The moment they start talking, they just keep going and going and it alternates between banter and serious discussion and yeah, it's the same small problem as right from the beginning. They like each other too much, they genuinely want to spend every moment either together or talking or having sex.
I even find that with the way I write. Sean's never as engaged or as on with anyone else as he is when he's with her. And I always feel that lack, try as I do to get him involved. It's this constant niggle with him. Every time I take him away from her or take her away from him, it gnaws and gnaws at the narrative because she's not there. All he wants is to be with her. *sigh* Stoopid protagonist.
As the writer, I keep wondering whether all that dialogue is tiring for the reader. All that funny business that I adore, that they adore, the way they vibe off each other. Maybe that's tedious for the reader. I can't tell so I keep worrying in a very latent way about whether I should be trimming that shit back. Taking control of the narrative.
I wonder if Bret Easton Ellis worries this way about his dialogue. Specifically about American Psycho. Which I always trumpet as the most controlled skilful narrative. But then he doesn't have seventeen page discussions, does he? Or if he does, I haven't actually noticed the page numbers. I just didn't want to impose a stop there, an artificial break. I mean, I could have. They could have stopped and then taken up the discussion the next night. And then the next night. But damnit, I have seventeen page discussions with people on the phone or in real life. I have conversations that go for hours and I didn't want to impose an external literary limit on naturalism like that.
I don't know. I should send it to my cousin and see what she says. I did promise her another instalment ages ago and she has been begging me for more and she made me the sweetest present all about writing and this particular novel and I told her I wanted to get to a certain plot point before sending it to her. Well, it rather guiltily occurred to me a few hours ago that I did reach and pass that plot point. I just got caught up in dealing with the fallout and making sure I was properly hitting all those right emotional points. In the process, totally forgot I was meant to email her.
So maybe I'll wait until the next big set piece before emailing her. Which I should at least start writing tomorrow. Oh holy fuck, I can't write it all in one day. Oh jesus. No, wait, I need one more scene before I get to that. Okay. Phew.
Sorry, thinking through the keys. 's what happens when a girl doesn't journalise for the better part of two months and then rediscovers ElJhay.
Rob's being a lot moodier than I'd expected. Which I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised by. And Sean's being quite male about the whole thing which I have to say I also rather like. The pop culture references seem to be piling up now and I think I've kinda given up on fighting them. Looks like these two are going to be film buffs whether I like it or not. At the moment, a rather throwaway line from waaaayyy earlier in the novel has kinda developed into a small thing between them and I'm curious myself as to how it's going to go. I'd always wondered if I should cut that line. I may yet do but let's just see where it may go for now.
The irony that for so many years it's bugged me and bugged me that so many books seem to exist in a vacuum of pop culture and now I can't seem to not write narratives that are heavy on the pop culture.
Well, there's pop and then there's pop. :p My pop is not your pop is not the general definition of pop. I imagine.
Shut up, dri, do.
Oh! I just remembered I made a rather big change. I don't know how exactly it happened but somehow it slid into my head as I was writing that scene that little Sean's nickname for Sean prolly isn't the most apt one. It always niggled me a little that there were too many syllables in it for such a little boy to say. And well, Sean does make such a big deal out of the fact that he's his godfather. So I don't know, the idea slid in and then took root until I thought, "You know what, let's just try it, let's see how it looks." Did what we transcribers call a global change which is Replace All. And yeah, I totally did not miss the old name. And this rather fits into the whole family thing. Funny that it's taken me this long to find it. *beams*
Sean's not Unca Smitty any more to little Sean. He's Goffer. I may change it to Goffa but that seems too much like a real word but it is the way he says it in my head. "Goffa!"
I totally cannot wait for the new Pnau album. Downloaded the first two singles tonight and am totally loving them. Also Littlemore in the video clip for Solid Ground. Mother of god, how strangely attractive he is. July 22, Soft Universe. Take note.
Okay, you know how I'm reading Rupert Thomson's Five Gates Of Hell at the moment? And how I had actually bought it years ago and kept forbidding myself to read it until just before I began this novel so it could sort of bless it and influence it but not to the extent where I'm plagiarising it?
Well, I didn't read it before I began this novel in November. (Ha, I just remembered Rupert Thomson's a Scorpio and I'm pretty sure his birthday is in November.) Mainly because I didn't want to get so inspired by him that I'd throw my entire plot out the window and go off on some speculative fictive tangent. Which, you know, already struggling with one novel in that realm, thanks ver' much!
What? Right, yes. So didn't read it before. Didn't read it during November. Didn't start reading it until a few weeks ago when I just gave in and plunged, so eager to be in his language again. Chabon had just badly disappointed me with an attempted re-read of Mysteries Of Pittsburgh so naturally I turned to Rupert to make me feel better.
And um, this week I discovered that Rupert Thomson, subtle scarily elegant sexy Scorpio writer that he is, only went and gave one of his protagonists a kink that I didn't even realise Sean had until I found myself writing it and that was squicky enough!
*sigh*
Thank fuck I discovered Sean's kink, planned it out, wrote it out, moved on from it before I picked up Five Gates Of Hell. The only problem is a couple of days ago I was thinking that perhaps that kink should be revisited just so we know it wasn't a one-off. And now I'm so damned afraid it's going to be like I am plagiarising Rupert. Never mind comparing what I've written to what he's written and wondering if I've gone far enough, written it right enough and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhh!
God, it was so freaky reading his scenes. So fucking surreal, man. It would have been compelling, anyway. But jesus, the added dimension of that writer mirror. Quaking in my boots. Half tearful, half fearful. And all the while wanting to hit either him or me. Oooh!
Quandary much. *gloomy*
That aside, the scene I wrote today kinda turned out marvellously even though I had the most pedestrian beginning, knew generally which points I wanted to hit, and had absolutely no sex planned. What eventuated was just all kinds of funny, ominous, tender and then searingly hot, so much so even I was blushing as I was writing it out.
Yeah, no, I'm not one of those writers who actually gets turned on by the sex I'm writing. The actual process is not sexy at all, it's atrociously hard work, so much so I'm always shatteringly exhausted when I finish the scene. But this, because it was totally unplanned and spontaneous, was kinda making my hair stand. *lol*
Mind you, there was one bit of conversation I didn't get to include which maybe I'll go back and see if it can work. At the time, I thought maybe it'd fit in later. But now I'm wondering if that was a little too generous and maybe I should just try and see.
Tomorrow.
And ha, I discovered both Sean and Cary's favourite movies, got some hilarious dialogue happening which now has got me worrying again about whether they talk too much. I mean, honestly, them two. The moment they start talking, they just keep going and going and it alternates between banter and serious discussion and yeah, it's the same small problem as right from the beginning. They like each other too much, they genuinely want to spend every moment either together or talking or having sex.
I even find that with the way I write. Sean's never as engaged or as on with anyone else as he is when he's with her. And I always feel that lack, try as I do to get him involved. It's this constant niggle with him. Every time I take him away from her or take her away from him, it gnaws and gnaws at the narrative because she's not there. All he wants is to be with her. *sigh* Stoopid protagonist.
As the writer, I keep wondering whether all that dialogue is tiring for the reader. All that funny business that I adore, that they adore, the way they vibe off each other. Maybe that's tedious for the reader. I can't tell so I keep worrying in a very latent way about whether I should be trimming that shit back. Taking control of the narrative.
I wonder if Bret Easton Ellis worries this way about his dialogue. Specifically about American Psycho. Which I always trumpet as the most controlled skilful narrative. But then he doesn't have seventeen page discussions, does he? Or if he does, I haven't actually noticed the page numbers. I just didn't want to impose a stop there, an artificial break. I mean, I could have. They could have stopped and then taken up the discussion the next night. And then the next night. But damnit, I have seventeen page discussions with people on the phone or in real life. I have conversations that go for hours and I didn't want to impose an external literary limit on naturalism like that.
I don't know. I should send it to my cousin and see what she says. I did promise her another instalment ages ago and she has been begging me for more and she made me the sweetest present all about writing and this particular novel and I told her I wanted to get to a certain plot point before sending it to her. Well, it rather guiltily occurred to me a few hours ago that I did reach and pass that plot point. I just got caught up in dealing with the fallout and making sure I was properly hitting all those right emotional points. In the process, totally forgot I was meant to email her.
So maybe I'll wait until the next big set piece before emailing her. Which I should at least start writing tomorrow. Oh holy fuck, I can't write it all in one day. Oh jesus. No, wait, I need one more scene before I get to that. Okay. Phew.
Sorry, thinking through the keys. 's what happens when a girl doesn't journalise for the better part of two months and then rediscovers ElJhay.
Rob's being a lot moodier than I'd expected. Which I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised by. And Sean's being quite male about the whole thing which I have to say I also rather like. The pop culture references seem to be piling up now and I think I've kinda given up on fighting them. Looks like these two are going to be film buffs whether I like it or not. At the moment, a rather throwaway line from waaaayyy earlier in the novel has kinda developed into a small thing between them and I'm curious myself as to how it's going to go. I'd always wondered if I should cut that line. I may yet do but let's just see where it may go for now.
The irony that for so many years it's bugged me and bugged me that so many books seem to exist in a vacuum of pop culture and now I can't seem to not write narratives that are heavy on the pop culture.
Well, there's pop and then there's pop. :p My pop is not your pop is not the general definition of pop. I imagine.
Shut up, dri, do.
Oh! I just remembered I made a rather big change. I don't know how exactly it happened but somehow it slid into my head as I was writing that scene that little Sean's nickname for Sean prolly isn't the most apt one. It always niggled me a little that there were too many syllables in it for such a little boy to say. And well, Sean does make such a big deal out of the fact that he's his godfather. So I don't know, the idea slid in and then took root until I thought, "You know what, let's just try it, let's see how it looks." Did what we transcribers call a global change which is Replace All. And yeah, I totally did not miss the old name. And this rather fits into the whole family thing. Funny that it's taken me this long to find it. *beams*
Sean's not Unca Smitty any more to little Sean. He's Goffer. I may change it to Goffa but that seems too much like a real word but it is the way he says it in my head. "Goffa!"
I totally cannot wait for the new Pnau album. Downloaded the first two singles tonight and am totally loving them. Also Littlemore in the video clip for Solid Ground. Mother of god, how strangely attractive he is. July 22, Soft Universe. Take note.