Parable of the Sower, Its author, and Draco Malfoy dreams
When I read Octavia Butler's stuff, I feel as if my own writing is nothing in comparison. I love the way she writes. I love that she writes about something, not the childish, purely entertainment stories I seem to write. Her writing says something about the world and about people. It says something about the future doubling back into the past about the way history cycles about everything.
I loved (love) Parable of the Sower. As I mentioned before, it's a hard book to read, but it's wonderful, the world she created, the future she envisioned. I want to know more. Much more about that world. About the way it works. part of me wants to know how she came up with it, but I know I can't ask her now. Maybe in dreams.
I'm so in love with her. Octavia E. Butler. Octavia Estelle Butler. Did you know that? It took this long for me to know her middle name. I wish I could have started reading her earlier, though I know if I did I wouldn't have found the courage to write and ask her about things, but still. I guess now what I can do is read the things she's written and learn from them and learn from other writers -- maybe find writers that she has recommended in interviews or other books. All I can do is learn.
Anyway, today is a rainy day. It's nice. I didn't finish the book yesterday, but this morning, I woke up, contemplated my dreams somewhere between sleep and waking and then woke up fully ad picked up the book to finish it. I have the sequel beside me and I'm trying to decide whether to dive into that or to take a little break, maybe read some short stories, maybe read something else, maybe take some time to write. Whatever I do, I'll get to that story. I want more dystopias, more hypotheses of the future. Of our future. I want to lear how they work so I can write one. I also want to read cyberpunk novels. I read a short story online called "Cyberpunk" by Bruce Bethke. It got me interested. Or more interested than I was.
Also, my dream last night was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had a little crush on him, you see. But he as in another dimension or something. And Hermoine had Harry go to that dimension because, I guess secretly her and Malfoy had become friends and she knew how Malfoy felt and she felt they could become friends, too. So Harry jumped into this swimming pool where Draco was watching. And Harry jumped in in his clothes: black dress pants and a white shirt with small, pastel blue flowers. And when he surfaced, the shirt was see-through and plastered to Harry's torso at all kinds of sexy angles ad you could feel Malfoy's eyes on him, could feel Malfoy's excitement and the slow blush that crept across his features as he stared.
I might write it as a story. As fanfiction. I changed some of the dream, or added to it so it was more storylike anyway. Also to fill in parts I don't quite remember. I do that sometimes, you know. I've always wondered about creating memories. About fabricating them. I suppose one would start by adding things in to memories that were already there, giving hem shady substance, filling in where parts faded, where parts stopped being clear.
I loved (love) Parable of the Sower. As I mentioned before, it's a hard book to read, but it's wonderful, the world she created, the future she envisioned. I want to know more. Much more about that world. About the way it works. part of me wants to know how she came up with it, but I know I can't ask her now. Maybe in dreams.
I'm so in love with her. Octavia E. Butler. Octavia Estelle Butler. Did you know that? It took this long for me to know her middle name. I wish I could have started reading her earlier, though I know if I did I wouldn't have found the courage to write and ask her about things, but still. I guess now what I can do is read the things she's written and learn from them and learn from other writers -- maybe find writers that she has recommended in interviews or other books. All I can do is learn.
Anyway, today is a rainy day. It's nice. I didn't finish the book yesterday, but this morning, I woke up, contemplated my dreams somewhere between sleep and waking and then woke up fully ad picked up the book to finish it. I have the sequel beside me and I'm trying to decide whether to dive into that or to take a little break, maybe read some short stories, maybe read something else, maybe take some time to write. Whatever I do, I'll get to that story. I want more dystopias, more hypotheses of the future. Of our future. I want to lear how they work so I can write one. I also want to read cyberpunk novels. I read a short story online called "Cyberpunk" by Bruce Bethke. It got me interested. Or more interested than I was.
Also, my dream last night was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had a little crush on him, you see. But he as in another dimension or something. And Hermoine had Harry go to that dimension because, I guess secretly her and Malfoy had become friends and she knew how Malfoy felt and she felt they could become friends, too. So Harry jumped into this swimming pool where Draco was watching. And Harry jumped in in his clothes: black dress pants and a white shirt with small, pastel blue flowers. And when he surfaced, the shirt was see-through and plastered to Harry's torso at all kinds of sexy angles ad you could feel Malfoy's eyes on him, could feel Malfoy's excitement and the slow blush that crept across his features as he stared.
I might write it as a story. As fanfiction. I changed some of the dream, or added to it so it was more storylike anyway. Also to fill in parts I don't quite remember. I do that sometimes, you know. I've always wondered about creating memories. About fabricating them. I suppose one would start by adding things in to memories that were already there, giving hem shady substance, filling in where parts faded, where parts stopped being clear.