The pieces dont fit
I actually did the writing I said I was going to do for once. Further in the creative direction I also bought myself some watercolour pencils and a sketchbook and started doodling mandalas, which have become a recent interest of mine that I had the pleasure of indulging whilst in Koyasan (more on that another time).
I lay on my bed last night emptying my head into my Moleskine and this afternoon actually sat down with what I decided would be the opening line and went from there. Two hand-written pages in, I decided to switch to my laptop and totally reworded the thing after an even better opening paragraph made it into the hand-written version. So things were going well for the first 400-500 words and then the voice in the back of my head started whispering things it knows it should keep to itself. But I ploughed on for another 700 words, knowing I had to get it all down. And then the voice started yelling, and I finally gave in and stopped.
This is one of the most painful things I've ever written, in at least two senses of the word. Painful because it's far more bloody work than it should be, and painful because it draws on things I've found I still have trouble dealing with in the emotional arena. I can't decide on the person either - I started in 3rd person, switched to 1st, and then back to 3rd, which feels a lot more comfortable for this one. I've also found myself writing in the present simple lately, rather than the past I've always written in. It seems to have more clout.
I've given myself until the end of the month to finish this version of the story. There's also a poem to be reworked for the same deadline. What I really need is the writing group I had in London. Typical that I find the muse in a country where there's no one to bounce ideas off of.
***
On another note, I was walking along the road earlier and saw a group of what I think were starlings flying across the road in a noisy swarm. One of them was carrying something which was too big for it. As it plunged into the bushes it dropped what it held. I looked down at the pavement and saw it was a dead house sparrow. Are starlings known to attack and kill other birds? Why would they be carrying a dead one around with them? For food?
And on the nature theme, Ina is looking particularly lovely at the moment, very lush and green - much more than England ever looks in the spring. The paddy fields about the house have been flooded and rice planted. This means that every night that is a concatenation of frog song outside my apartment, which is quite lovely to listen to.
Oh, and to finish, here's some pictures of the paddyfields:
At 4.30am.
And a much more reasonable afternoon shot. The little tractor has a mechanism that grabs each tiny rice plant from the back and plants it automatically into the ground. I was very interested. If only I had enough Japanese I would offer to help.
I lay on my bed last night emptying my head into my Moleskine and this afternoon actually sat down with what I decided would be the opening line and went from there. Two hand-written pages in, I decided to switch to my laptop and totally reworded the thing after an even better opening paragraph made it into the hand-written version. So things were going well for the first 400-500 words and then the voice in the back of my head started whispering things it knows it should keep to itself. But I ploughed on for another 700 words, knowing I had to get it all down. And then the voice started yelling, and I finally gave in and stopped.
This is one of the most painful things I've ever written, in at least two senses of the word. Painful because it's far more bloody work than it should be, and painful because it draws on things I've found I still have trouble dealing with in the emotional arena. I can't decide on the person either - I started in 3rd person, switched to 1st, and then back to 3rd, which feels a lot more comfortable for this one. I've also found myself writing in the present simple lately, rather than the past I've always written in. It seems to have more clout.
I've given myself until the end of the month to finish this version of the story. There's also a poem to be reworked for the same deadline. What I really need is the writing group I had in London. Typical that I find the muse in a country where there's no one to bounce ideas off of.
***
On another note, I was walking along the road earlier and saw a group of what I think were starlings flying across the road in a noisy swarm. One of them was carrying something which was too big for it. As it plunged into the bushes it dropped what it held. I looked down at the pavement and saw it was a dead house sparrow. Are starlings known to attack and kill other birds? Why would they be carrying a dead one around with them? For food?
And on the nature theme, Ina is looking particularly lovely at the moment, very lush and green - much more than England ever looks in the spring. The paddy fields about the house have been flooded and rice planted. This means that every night that is a concatenation of frog song outside my apartment, which is quite lovely to listen to.
Oh, and to finish, here's some pictures of the paddyfields:
At 4.30am.
And a much more reasonable afternoon shot. The little tractor has a mechanism that grabs each tiny rice plant from the back and plants it automatically into the ground. I was very interested. If only I had enough Japanese I would offer to help.