Bounce House Demons
A mind enclosed in language is in prison. ~ Simone Weil
That quotation came to me this morning courtesy Fred Cleveland, who was one of my first constant readers (we're talking 1997). And it comes, curiously, after a day of struggling with the beginning of the second third of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales. One of those two ideas I spoke of yesterday. An idea that bloomed fully formed in my head, but getting the intricate images out of my head, describing them in such a way that Steve Leiber can draw them to match what I see in my mind....yeah, language is a prison, and it can never keep up with my imagination. Sometimes, the limitations can inflict a sensation that - I swear to fuck - is physically painful.
I did 1,184 words yesterday, making it past the first two pages of that eight page installment, but now I think I'm shelving it, sending everything I have to Steve, and working a lot of the design and conceptualization stuff out with him before I continue. That way I don't have to struggle to describe a thing in the script. I can say, "You know, the X with Y in sketch Z. That." And oh how I wish, wish, wish I could tell you exactly what I'm talking about here - storywise - but I don't dare. Apologies. Loose lips and all that.
Last night, at 2:30 ayem, I had the drafting tools out, sketching a Bussard ramjet starship that will look exactly the way I need a ramjet to look. Sometimes the work is interesting, yes.
If you haven't already, PLEASE go to the Alabaster Facebook page and click the little like button thingy. I posted some of the earliest of Steve's Dancy sketches there yesterday. We're up to 584 "likes."
Also, remember, Subterranean Press is now taking pre-orders for The Ape's Wife and Other Stories.
And, also. Because, you know, THREE BOOKS AT ONCE. Also, Blood Oranges is only a few weeks from release (and people will likely get copies in advance of the actual release date, because release dates seem to be more like suggestions).
I went outside yesterday, but only as far as Eastside Market. Still, the air was good, and it made me feel cleaner. The air in the house must be growing foul.
Last night we played The Secret World, working on our Templar characters, and then we watched the first two episodes of Season Two of Damages. I'm really liking this series. Anything this good, it's just a shame there's no profanity. The absence of profanity is achingly incongruous. Very good first season. Only a few laggy episodes, but a stunning finalé. I love the non-linear narrative. Not a surprise there. Very good cinematography. And speaking of television, tonight, of course, is the very last episode of Fringe. Ever. "Over There." A special two-hour episode. But we won't see it until tomorrow night, as we'll be watching last week's episode tonight. NO SPOILERS. Oh, and Spooky drank a bottle of bacon-maple beer last night. I have no idea how it tasted, but it smelled fucking vile.
Sunny and bitter cold here in Providence.
Next,
Aunt Beast
That quotation came to me this morning courtesy Fred Cleveland, who was one of my first constant readers (we're talking 1997). And it comes, curiously, after a day of struggling with the beginning of the second third of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales. One of those two ideas I spoke of yesterday. An idea that bloomed fully formed in my head, but getting the intricate images out of my head, describing them in such a way that Steve Leiber can draw them to match what I see in my mind....yeah, language is a prison, and it can never keep up with my imagination. Sometimes, the limitations can inflict a sensation that - I swear to fuck - is physically painful.
I did 1,184 words yesterday, making it past the first two pages of that eight page installment, but now I think I'm shelving it, sending everything I have to Steve, and working a lot of the design and conceptualization stuff out with him before I continue. That way I don't have to struggle to describe a thing in the script. I can say, "You know, the X with Y in sketch Z. That." And oh how I wish, wish, wish I could tell you exactly what I'm talking about here - storywise - but I don't dare. Apologies. Loose lips and all that.
Last night, at 2:30 ayem, I had the drafting tools out, sketching a Bussard ramjet starship that will look exactly the way I need a ramjet to look. Sometimes the work is interesting, yes.
If you haven't already, PLEASE go to the Alabaster Facebook page and click the little like button thingy. I posted some of the earliest of Steve's Dancy sketches there yesterday. We're up to 584 "likes."
Also, remember, Subterranean Press is now taking pre-orders for The Ape's Wife and Other Stories.
And, also. Because, you know, THREE BOOKS AT ONCE. Also, Blood Oranges is only a few weeks from release (and people will likely get copies in advance of the actual release date, because release dates seem to be more like suggestions).
I went outside yesterday, but only as far as Eastside Market. Still, the air was good, and it made me feel cleaner. The air in the house must be growing foul.
Last night we played The Secret World, working on our Templar characters, and then we watched the first two episodes of Season Two of Damages. I'm really liking this series. Anything this good, it's just a shame there's no profanity. The absence of profanity is achingly incongruous. Very good first season. Only a few laggy episodes, but a stunning finalé. I love the non-linear narrative. Not a surprise there. Very good cinematography. And speaking of television, tonight, of course, is the very last episode of Fringe. Ever. "Over There." A special two-hour episode. But we won't see it until tomorrow night, as we'll be watching last week's episode tonight. NO SPOILERS. Oh, and Spooky drank a bottle of bacon-maple beer last night. I have no idea how it tasted, but it smelled fucking vile.
Sunny and bitter cold here in Providence.
Next,
Aunt Beast