Brutal.
Not much news happening with me. Just finished reading Boris Vian's, "I Spit On Your Graves", which was actually more like, "I Do Your Bitches". It was good though; very easy to read.
Momocon is quickly approaching, and I am toying with two ideas for stories to make into small books and sell while I'm there. The first is a cold tale about one of my characters, Cecil. On his return to his family's home in Norway the train stops for a minute in a town along the way (right outside of Trondheim) called Hell, where a passenger of a curious nature boards. My intent is to keep it surreal from then on out, but I'd also like to address the isolationism that comes with the incredibly long train ride (over 20 hrs), and then also have this curious passenger relate back to a Helreginn and the underworld in Norse paganism. But that takes research.
The second I'm thinking of is about my 1900's Call of Cthulhu character, and his general malaise/hatred of everything. I was recently told that surgeons have the highest rate of suicide among doctors, and while I'm sure that statistic is much worse nowadays, I think they probably got a lot of complaints back in the old days too.
Anyway, having said all that, I haven't been very good at being focused lately. I hope something changes to fix that soon.
Today, between working on 1099s for work, I've been reading about Norwegian black metal and how brutal the scene is. Not going to lie, it's all very enthralling. From my fave article so far (which also gives you a good rundown of major events; stave church burnings, murders among each other, suicide, and just the incredible amount of violence that is attached to the scene):
As Mayhem's tour bus winds through plateaus and fjords for hundreds of miles on its way from Bergen (a western port town) to Kristiansand in the south, it's easy to see what he means. Norway is a country in which nature has the upper hand. At times blizzards make it impossible to see more than a couple of metres in front of the van. When the skies clear, the awesome landscape communicates its majesty through an eerie silence. Trees laden with snow are contorted into obsequious poses, as if compelled to bow down by forces beyond their control. And with the onset of dusk, the craggy profiles of the black mountains take on a malefic aspect, casting a dark shadow across the land.
Full article here.
Momocon is quickly approaching, and I am toying with two ideas for stories to make into small books and sell while I'm there. The first is a cold tale about one of my characters, Cecil. On his return to his family's home in Norway the train stops for a minute in a town along the way (right outside of Trondheim) called Hell, where a passenger of a curious nature boards. My intent is to keep it surreal from then on out, but I'd also like to address the isolationism that comes with the incredibly long train ride (over 20 hrs), and then also have this curious passenger relate back to a Helreginn and the underworld in Norse paganism. But that takes research.
The second I'm thinking of is about my 1900's Call of Cthulhu character, and his general malaise/hatred of everything. I was recently told that surgeons have the highest rate of suicide among doctors, and while I'm sure that statistic is much worse nowadays, I think they probably got a lot of complaints back in the old days too.
Anyway, having said all that, I haven't been very good at being focused lately. I hope something changes to fix that soon.
Today, between working on 1099s for work, I've been reading about Norwegian black metal and how brutal the scene is. Not going to lie, it's all very enthralling. From my fave article so far (which also gives you a good rundown of major events; stave church burnings, murders among each other, suicide, and just the incredible amount of violence that is attached to the scene):
As Mayhem's tour bus winds through plateaus and fjords for hundreds of miles on its way from Bergen (a western port town) to Kristiansand in the south, it's easy to see what he means. Norway is a country in which nature has the upper hand. At times blizzards make it impossible to see more than a couple of metres in front of the van. When the skies clear, the awesome landscape communicates its majesty through an eerie silence. Trees laden with snow are contorted into obsequious poses, as if compelled to bow down by forces beyond their control. And with the onset of dusk, the craggy profiles of the black mountains take on a malefic aspect, casting a dark shadow across the land.
Full article here.