change enough
So we compromised.
After two thousand words written to the novel playlist, I stopped to eat and watch Heaven Knows, Mr Allison --- yeah, not so hot the second time around when you know how it goes ... although I am reconsidering the subtext of that moment in the cave when she says there was a lot of truth in what he'd said ... o rly? Did you just say what I think you said, Sister Angela?! *boggles at the possibilities of what was carefully omitted* --- and when I forced myself to go back to the scene in progress, I let Active Child play on and I wrote another thousand five hundred words before stopping and reconfiguring the playlist somewhat to re-include Goldfrapp and said Active Child.
Never mind that I stopped about twice to look at pix of Pat(rick) Grossi. I'm sorry, I can't call him Pat. That just makes me think of Bateman. And he's too oddly beautiful to be associated with that doofus.
I have no idea why I find him so attractive. It's not just the association of fascinating talent although that's a pretty big part. I kinda think I would notice him if he walked past me on the street. As in a silent turn of the head and thinking "That ... is a rather beautifully made man." I just keep marvelling at the vivid colours of him and that particular elegance of a tall broad shouldered man.
The video probably has something to do with it. Startled me into going "That's what he looks like?! But he's tall! Well, tall to me. And sort of ... manly. And that is so not what I had vaguely imagined. What? Are you sure? It's not just an actor?" I had only briefly glanced at the liner notes and the photo therein, preferring to focus on the music instead. So I hadn't retained any impression at all. Until the video.
Okay, he's not particularly attractive in the video. But then I was googling cos I can't figure out if I get an earth vibe or an air vibe from him and I was like "Goddamnit, just tell me so I can stop trying to work it out and go back to my writing!" And I found this pic ...
... which, I don't know, just does something to me.
I think it's the shoulders. *nods*
And come on, man, I've spent more than a day listening to his music, ONLY him, even heard it in my sleep, so I feel like I've kind of earned the right to perv on the visual now. *lol, defensive fangirl is defensive*
And then I watched this clip:
I like that look, that certain intent listening look when the guy's telling him what he liked about the remix. It's that look of creative artist holding breath and waiting for feedback, bracing self for positive or negative critique.
And then I went and looked at the pix on Last.FM. And pretty much gave in at that point. I don't know, man. As I said to the #Spiritualists a few days ago, the mysteries of eroticism are mysterious!
The talent tips me over the edge.
God, he's younger than me! *shudders* Why do I always assume every musician I like is older than me or born in 1967? Because they frequently are.
Mm. Yeah, this is the point I gave up.
What? Oh right, the writing. Yeah, I just finished the scene and while it's not the quality of language I'd like overall, there are some pretty awesome bits in there of imagery and metaphor that surprised me by coming out of nowhere. I think I'm hurting myself by writing these scenes which is why I keep putting them off but they're necessary. I can't know if they're worth cutting unless I write them and find out.
Overall, there's a certain terseness and lack of psychological depth I don't quite like, a certain superficiality. And I keep wondering if that's my own reluctance. Because I know what's coming and don't want to do it to them, don't want to do it to myself. Even today, I went back and re-read one of their phone conversations which made me all with the warm and fuzzies and falling in love with them all over again, so loving them together.
But it's necessary. It has to be done. I keep telling myself that and trying to be the ruthless author like James Jones and Meredith Duran and Charlotte Bronte. You yourself will pluck out your right eye. But I keep failing to be as ruthless as they are. So much for the detached Aquarian. *hollow laugh*
No matter. This scene is done and it turned out rather sweet, actually. Hit all the points I needed plus some more. The scene in the taxi I hadn't actually planned, thought it would come out secondhand from Rob but then I realised that Sean would see his godson before he'd see Rob and well, it'd come out then. I'm not certain I handled the exposition of emotion all that great there --- could do better! grrr! --- but I can fix that on future re-reads and tweaks.
And the stuff with Rob became marvellously subtextual, so much simmering under the surface and unspoken and hopefully real to the way men supposedly interact as opposed to the way women supposedly overshare and overanalyse.
There are all these little strands that are developing, twisting and knotting in good crochet ways. Conversations Sean's had that are now rebounding on him, principles that he's vowed that he's finding himself breaking now and having to deal with that, square it with his own sense of integrity. And the relationships are developing in ways I had planned but not to this level of richness. I can actually hear shaula82 and sheba_finesse react to certain things I wrote today, see them nodding and pointing out what's happening because the three of us tend to notice relationships in similar ways, especially in fiction.
Because I am about as subtle as a sledgehammer, wot? *does the Petey pelvis move*
In a way, I can feel my writing changing as a result of the literature I've read recently. Like James Jones allowing his characters to get corrupted and fuck up in ways I would have never allowed mine to. Today Sean kind of did and I let him feel it out, feel the weakness of the moment. It kinda worked out well. I liked it, the certain psychological depth and complexity of it expressed in sufficiently powerful terms on the page. One succinct word to twist the previous excuse. I liked that so much, the immediate backlash.
Too much complexity. *lol* What is that?
See what happens tomorrow. Possibly big stuff. Possibly not. I'm not going to plan. Let it happen. And I'm taking Patrick Grossi along for the ride so he doesn't keep distracting me!
Wait, hold on, Johnny Belinda as in the movie? *googles* Hm. Maybe not. Cryptic lyrics are cryptic. God, I forgot Lew Ayres was in that ... goddamn you, Lew, why must you make such traumatic films that I don't want to watch?! *still shrinking away from the butterfly*
I so need more icon spaces. Or an icon rehaul. I need Montgomery Clift icons. And damnit, Active Child icons.
Redhead should not wear that shade of red but the line of the nose. Unf. Always did like a good nose. Innthatright, Ioan Gruffudd?
Mmm.
See, I even forgot to do this!
Wordcount: 206,670
Pages: 647
Argh, my addled brain.
After two thousand words written to the novel playlist, I stopped to eat and watch Heaven Knows, Mr Allison --- yeah, not so hot the second time around when you know how it goes ... although I am reconsidering the subtext of that moment in the cave when she says there was a lot of truth in what he'd said ... o rly? Did you just say what I think you said, Sister Angela?! *boggles at the possibilities of what was carefully omitted* --- and when I forced myself to go back to the scene in progress, I let Active Child play on and I wrote another thousand five hundred words before stopping and reconfiguring the playlist somewhat to re-include Goldfrapp and said Active Child.
Never mind that I stopped about twice to look at pix of Pat(rick) Grossi. I'm sorry, I can't call him Pat. That just makes me think of Bateman. And he's too oddly beautiful to be associated with that doofus.
I have no idea why I find him so attractive. It's not just the association of fascinating talent although that's a pretty big part. I kinda think I would notice him if he walked past me on the street. As in a silent turn of the head and thinking "That ... is a rather beautifully made man." I just keep marvelling at the vivid colours of him and that particular elegance of a tall broad shouldered man.
The video probably has something to do with it. Startled me into going "That's what he looks like?! But he's tall! Well, tall to me. And sort of ... manly. And that is so not what I had vaguely imagined. What? Are you sure? It's not just an actor?" I had only briefly glanced at the liner notes and the photo therein, preferring to focus on the music instead. So I hadn't retained any impression at all. Until the video.
Click to viewOkay, he's not particularly attractive in the video. But then I was googling cos I can't figure out if I get an earth vibe or an air vibe from him and I was like "Goddamnit, just tell me so I can stop trying to work it out and go back to my writing!" And I found this pic ...
... which, I don't know, just does something to me.
I think it's the shoulders. *nods*
And come on, man, I've spent more than a day listening to his music, ONLY him, even heard it in my sleep, so I feel like I've kind of earned the right to perv on the visual now. *lol, defensive fangirl is defensive*
And then I watched this clip:
I like that look, that certain intent listening look when the guy's telling him what he liked about the remix. It's that look of creative artist holding breath and waiting for feedback, bracing self for positive or negative critique.
And then I went and looked at the pix on Last.FM. And pretty much gave in at that point. I don't know, man. As I said to the #Spiritualists a few days ago, the mysteries of eroticism are mysterious!
The talent tips me over the edge.
God, he's younger than me! *shudders* Why do I always assume every musician I like is older than me or born in 1967? Because they frequently are.
Mm. Yeah, this is the point I gave up.
What? Oh right, the writing. Yeah, I just finished the scene and while it's not the quality of language I'd like overall, there are some pretty awesome bits in there of imagery and metaphor that surprised me by coming out of nowhere. I think I'm hurting myself by writing these scenes which is why I keep putting them off but they're necessary. I can't know if they're worth cutting unless I write them and find out.
Overall, there's a certain terseness and lack of psychological depth I don't quite like, a certain superficiality. And I keep wondering if that's my own reluctance. Because I know what's coming and don't want to do it to them, don't want to do it to myself. Even today, I went back and re-read one of their phone conversations which made me all with the warm and fuzzies and falling in love with them all over again, so loving them together.
But it's necessary. It has to be done. I keep telling myself that and trying to be the ruthless author like James Jones and Meredith Duran and Charlotte Bronte. You yourself will pluck out your right eye. But I keep failing to be as ruthless as they are. So much for the detached Aquarian. *hollow laugh*
No matter. This scene is done and it turned out rather sweet, actually. Hit all the points I needed plus some more. The scene in the taxi I hadn't actually planned, thought it would come out secondhand from Rob but then I realised that Sean would see his godson before he'd see Rob and well, it'd come out then. I'm not certain I handled the exposition of emotion all that great there --- could do better! grrr! --- but I can fix that on future re-reads and tweaks.
And the stuff with Rob became marvellously subtextual, so much simmering under the surface and unspoken and hopefully real to the way men supposedly interact as opposed to the way women supposedly overshare and overanalyse.
There are all these little strands that are developing, twisting and knotting in good crochet ways. Conversations Sean's had that are now rebounding on him, principles that he's vowed that he's finding himself breaking now and having to deal with that, square it with his own sense of integrity. And the relationships are developing in ways I had planned but not to this level of richness. I can actually hear shaula82 and sheba_finesse react to certain things I wrote today, see them nodding and pointing out what's happening because the three of us tend to notice relationships in similar ways, especially in fiction.
Because I am about as subtle as a sledgehammer, wot? *does the Petey pelvis move*
In a way, I can feel my writing changing as a result of the literature I've read recently. Like James Jones allowing his characters to get corrupted and fuck up in ways I would have never allowed mine to. Today Sean kind of did and I let him feel it out, feel the weakness of the moment. It kinda worked out well. I liked it, the certain psychological depth and complexity of it expressed in sufficiently powerful terms on the page. One succinct word to twist the previous excuse. I liked that so much, the immediate backlash.
Too much complexity. *lol* What is that?
See what happens tomorrow. Possibly big stuff. Possibly not. I'm not going to plan. Let it happen. And I'm taking Patrick Grossi along for the ride so he doesn't keep distracting me!
Wait, hold on, Johnny Belinda as in the movie? *googles* Hm. Maybe not. Cryptic lyrics are cryptic. God, I forgot Lew Ayres was in that ... goddamn you, Lew, why must you make such traumatic films that I don't want to watch?! *still shrinking away from the butterfly*
I so need more icon spaces. Or an icon rehaul. I need Montgomery Clift icons. And damnit, Active Child icons.
Redhead should not wear that shade of red but the line of the nose. Unf. Always did like a good nose. Innthatright, Ioan Gruffudd?
Mmm.
See, I even forgot to do this!
Wordcount: 206,670
Pages: 647
Argh, my addled brain.