[SF] Day Five
askdjf;
Day five is the day after day four, which is also coincidentally the number of chapters both of my intended-to-be-long stories stopped at. Which is to say day five is utter failure on my part. Mostly I lifted a bunch of Adopt a Lines from the NaNoWriMo thread, many of which gave me APH plotbunnies. (But when you're given things like, "What is it with you and Canadia! I mean Canada! What are we talking about?" it's hard not to get some.)
I lied to the pagecounter again. 17 or bust before bed, it seems, although I've been working more on the usxuk comm's anniversary fic. It's worse because I feel productive - but it's just been on the wrong thing. False sense of security. Also, I really want to write on the insane asylum!verse APH thing, and also the Ars Poetica whatever that's been floating around since I picked up those anthologies. Of course, I lost the ideas for the second when I actually sat down to write it, but expect it in the next few days.
I hope.
As if that weren't enough, as soon as I locate that annotated copy of The Waste Land and Other Writings, I am completely using my notes to write an informal essay on The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. There is so much you learn about - learn from - a poem when you decide to get to know it. I'm even considering picking a poem I don't particularly like to memorize next, because some things just take a little work to love. I'm discovering there's a lot of that in poetry. I only ever started reading that poem because my mom can recite about half of the first stanza, so I always noticed it while leafing through my trusty Norton's. But Eliot always made me flip faster, until I really sat down with him. Now he's on my favorites.
Some poets do come naturally. I've loved William Carlos Williams from the very beginning - even when I had no idea it was him I loved. The poem "To Elsie" always made me smile, because it specifically mentioned Kentuckians in the first stanza: "The pure products of America / go crazy-- / mountain folk from Kentucky". Although upon reading it just now, I realize he's not telling us to go crazy, as I had somehow remembered, but it's still a sticking point in my memory. It made me happy to see, without fail. Some of his poems I do skim - I never did like Adam - but lord if most of them don't get me like that too.
More in that essay later. (With luck, anyways.)
Argh. Forget it. It's 3:30 am and I'm going to make new scene headings, thereby making new pages in Celtx and making my 17 pages. I'll pay for it tomorrow when I can properly care about such things.