Week 18 outtakes: Inspiration 1.0
In my final Week 18 entry, I mentioned a partially-automated (but mostly manual) writing process that I'd intended to use, and ended up abandoning after a few wasted hours. I figured I'd post this for everyone to "enjoy."
Once again, n3m3sis42 provided the bulk of the fodder for this exercise; theafaye and malruniel11, as co-nominees, started getting worked in later on.
First, I re-read all of n3m3sis42's entries. I chose her Week 2 entry as my personal favorite, and opted to use it as a loose model for a new "story".
Next, I had a word-mangling program called JanusNode chew on all fifteen of n3m3sis42's entries as a complete entity. It created something called a Markov table, a chart of probabilities that any given word will follow another one, based on the analyzed source.
From this, I had JanusNode spit out about 4000 words' worth of new material based on the n3m3sis42 composite-LJI-entry Markov table.
I then threw away everything but the following 20ish sentences / sentence fragments from those 4000 words, all of which tickled me. n3m3sis42 will surely recognize several moments from her LJI entries, now in seriously bizarre form:
I smiled as long legs, he failed the heavens.
She loves her anxiety, she needed memorabilia.
I really did like Poison by the desk and crackers
she vows, Tomorrow, I'll be helped.
The screeching from Social Security Camera Footage.
I'd learn the busiest highway we'd probably went inside
so tightly that draws the unintentional extension of feast
I might be the tension.
Now fully reclaim your favorite bipolar
these days a squishy, compliant baby is shit
Smiling at every job. My vision temporarily went bright white,
I've had to come in from the looks of things
Often I am desperate and will break out with bzzbzzBZZ! in the woods in an office job
she barely tasted them, too focused on the couch where he used to be called names
It was late into the sleeping and the remaining forts had fallen into disrepair.
but he'd be damned if he'd be damned
the eye patch had responded, releasing all of the world
You will sing, even if they'd rather not admit it.
In the wee hours, accompanied by random males.
He pictured Jean's sweet face, her kind smile, and her calendar is bereft of dates.
The next step was to start "retelling" the story of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, using these fragments mostly as "must includes" around which the rest of the text would be written.
Meanwhile, I had asked JanusNode to analyze / chew on the Week 2 entries from theafaye and malruniel11 in a similar fashion. I only chose Week 2 since they were posted "parallel" to n3m3sis42's entry, not because they had anything in common thematically (beyond the core prompt, anyway).
My thought was that in my "remix" of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, I would add the following:
- A teleologically-parallel first-person voice, told from the perspective of the male object of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, who is not directly represented in any way originally.
- Regular alternation between the tale as told in third person by n3m3sis42 originally, and the new first-person perspective of the male object.
- Some kind of additional conclusion to n3m3sis42's "What's your name?" ending, which-- despite advancing the events beyond those depicted / suggested in n3m3sis42's original entry-- would also end in an ultimately frustratingly vague fashion...
- ...quite possibly in a loop of sorts, where the story ends with the originally-depicted lass once again anticipating and preparing for some kind of meeting... probably with another dude altogether.
I would need more material to get all this done, obviously. For the third-person parts, I planned to only use n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry as Markovian-output fodder. But for the first-person parts, I would mix n3m3sis42's entire LJI output to date with the Week 2 entries from theafaye and malruniel11.
I began editing and rearranging sentences from the original batch of 20ish sentences, trying to lay things out mostly in parallel to the events depicted in n3m3sis42's original entry. A few sentences obviously weren't going to make it in usefully, and I eliminated them. Others got combined, met with pronoun changes (to match the intended third- or first-person perspectives), or had other minor changes inflicted upon them.
In the background, I began running JanusNode with the combination of the Week 2 entries from n3m3sis42, theafaye and malruniel11. Again, I would throw away the bulk of its output, taking an additional sentence here or there and bringing it in where I thought it would be useful in the tale's retelling.
Here's what I had after a couple hours of this manual rearranging-regeneration process. It's not that clear-cut, especially in terms of where I was planning the first-person interjections; this part, which I considered vital in the "remix," was not moving very quickly for me. But the opening is pretty much done at this stage, and is very clearly modeled on n3m3sis42's original-- if with a much more Dadaist feel.
She'd waited all day for her routine. It was killing her. Tonight was the night. Tonight was killing her. She slipped on every detail, each step, of a moment longer. She couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't stand it as time. He was killing her. The anticipation was interminable.
On any other night, she painstakingly applied makeup. Foundation. Powder. Blush. Mascara. Shadow, then eyeliner. Every detail had to be perfect. But tonight was The Night. It was not any other night.
She stepped into a brief respite from the tension. Tonight, nothing could wash away the tension. She stepped into a moment longer, although it was still killing her. She focused on the meaning of her routine. She focused on the meaning of the meaning of her routine. It no longer seemed necessary. Tonight was The Night.
She had snacked all day, all night, as the tension killed her. Being wound so tightly... it draws the unintentional extension of feast. She really did like the poison and crackers by the desk. But now she barely tasted them, too focused on the couch where he used to be called names.
She loved her anxiety; she needed memorabilia. Letters. Old prescriptions. A black dress and wine. The screeching from camera footage.
She vows: Tomorrow, I'll be helped.
She walked to the car.
*****
I'm a dinosaur, a common need.
*****
I said to her: "Often I am desperate and will break out with bzzbzzBZZ! in the woods in an office job. I might be the tension."
Said tension hung almost palpably in the dinner dishes, brought more glasses of emotions.
*****
I opened her good measure.
Later, it was late into our sleeping. In the morning I would learn that, on the busiest highway we'd probably went inside, the remaining forts had fallen into disrepair.
*****
In the wee hours, accompanied by random males, I now pictured Jean's sweet face, her kind smile, her calendar bereft of dates. She filled my world by Tuesday. I'd be damned if I'd be damned. I smiled as long legs failed the heavens.
I told my boss: "My vision temporarily went bright white. I've had to come in from the looks of things."
***
You will sing, even if they'd rather not admit it.
That last sentence, I thought, would be a really beautiful ending somehow.
At this point, though, I was getting frustrated with the machine's inability to come up with really new and shocking material based on the very limited "food" I'd handed it. I also realized my efforts would be futile if not vastly misunderstood in the scheme of LJI readership, and terminated the experiment.
I've mostly used this kind of process to assist me with lyric-writing and musical structure generation, burying the true meaning of a source text in a stream of apparent nonsense. I've never used this technique to write a story/"story" before, particularly with a semi-prescribed narrative-- and I was beginning to see that it would be a rather prolonged effort to use these techniques for such ends. It could probably generate some pretty amazing results-- if you had enough time to let the computer do its thing, and if you had the further time to carefully sift through a warehouse full of output text trying to find the diamonds in the rough.
Once again, n3m3sis42 provided the bulk of the fodder for this exercise; theafaye and malruniel11, as co-nominees, started getting worked in later on.
First, I re-read all of n3m3sis42's entries. I chose her Week 2 entry as my personal favorite, and opted to use it as a loose model for a new "story".
Next, I had a word-mangling program called JanusNode chew on all fifteen of n3m3sis42's entries as a complete entity. It created something called a Markov table, a chart of probabilities that any given word will follow another one, based on the analyzed source.
From this, I had JanusNode spit out about 4000 words' worth of new material based on the n3m3sis42 composite-LJI-entry Markov table.
I then threw away everything but the following 20ish sentences / sentence fragments from those 4000 words, all of which tickled me. n3m3sis42 will surely recognize several moments from her LJI entries, now in seriously bizarre form:
I smiled as long legs, he failed the heavens.
She loves her anxiety, she needed memorabilia.
I really did like Poison by the desk and crackers
she vows, Tomorrow, I'll be helped.
The screeching from Social Security Camera Footage.
I'd learn the busiest highway we'd probably went inside
so tightly that draws the unintentional extension of feast
I might be the tension.
Now fully reclaim your favorite bipolar
these days a squishy, compliant baby is shit
Smiling at every job. My vision temporarily went bright white,
I've had to come in from the looks of things
Often I am desperate and will break out with bzzbzzBZZ! in the woods in an office job
she barely tasted them, too focused on the couch where he used to be called names
It was late into the sleeping and the remaining forts had fallen into disrepair.
but he'd be damned if he'd be damned
the eye patch had responded, releasing all of the world
You will sing, even if they'd rather not admit it.
In the wee hours, accompanied by random males.
He pictured Jean's sweet face, her kind smile, and her calendar is bereft of dates.
The next step was to start "retelling" the story of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, using these fragments mostly as "must includes" around which the rest of the text would be written.
Meanwhile, I had asked JanusNode to analyze / chew on the Week 2 entries from theafaye and malruniel11 in a similar fashion. I only chose Week 2 since they were posted "parallel" to n3m3sis42's entry, not because they had anything in common thematically (beyond the core prompt, anyway).
My thought was that in my "remix" of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, I would add the following:
- A teleologically-parallel first-person voice, told from the perspective of the male object of n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry, who is not directly represented in any way originally.
- Regular alternation between the tale as told in third person by n3m3sis42 originally, and the new first-person perspective of the male object.
- Some kind of additional conclusion to n3m3sis42's "What's your name?" ending, which-- despite advancing the events beyond those depicted / suggested in n3m3sis42's original entry-- would also end in an ultimately frustratingly vague fashion...
- ...quite possibly in a loop of sorts, where the story ends with the originally-depicted lass once again anticipating and preparing for some kind of meeting... probably with another dude altogether.
I would need more material to get all this done, obviously. For the third-person parts, I planned to only use n3m3sis42's Week 2 entry as Markovian-output fodder. But for the first-person parts, I would mix n3m3sis42's entire LJI output to date with the Week 2 entries from theafaye and malruniel11.
I began editing and rearranging sentences from the original batch of 20ish sentences, trying to lay things out mostly in parallel to the events depicted in n3m3sis42's original entry. A few sentences obviously weren't going to make it in usefully, and I eliminated them. Others got combined, met with pronoun changes (to match the intended third- or first-person perspectives), or had other minor changes inflicted upon them.
In the background, I began running JanusNode with the combination of the Week 2 entries from n3m3sis42, theafaye and malruniel11. Again, I would throw away the bulk of its output, taking an additional sentence here or there and bringing it in where I thought it would be useful in the tale's retelling.
Here's what I had after a couple hours of this manual rearranging-regeneration process. It's not that clear-cut, especially in terms of where I was planning the first-person interjections; this part, which I considered vital in the "remix," was not moving very quickly for me. But the opening is pretty much done at this stage, and is very clearly modeled on n3m3sis42's original-- if with a much more Dadaist feel.
She'd waited all day for her routine. It was killing her. Tonight was the night. Tonight was killing her. She slipped on every detail, each step, of a moment longer. She couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't stand it as time. He was killing her. The anticipation was interminable.
On any other night, she painstakingly applied makeup. Foundation. Powder. Blush. Mascara. Shadow, then eyeliner. Every detail had to be perfect. But tonight was The Night. It was not any other night.
She stepped into a brief respite from the tension. Tonight, nothing could wash away the tension. She stepped into a moment longer, although it was still killing her. She focused on the meaning of her routine. She focused on the meaning of the meaning of her routine. It no longer seemed necessary. Tonight was The Night.
She had snacked all day, all night, as the tension killed her. Being wound so tightly... it draws the unintentional extension of feast. She really did like the poison and crackers by the desk. But now she barely tasted them, too focused on the couch where he used to be called names.
She loved her anxiety; she needed memorabilia. Letters. Old prescriptions. A black dress and wine. The screeching from camera footage.
She vows: Tomorrow, I'll be helped.
She walked to the car.
*****
I'm a dinosaur, a common need.
*****
I said to her: "Often I am desperate and will break out with bzzbzzBZZ! in the woods in an office job. I might be the tension."
Said tension hung almost palpably in the dinner dishes, brought more glasses of emotions.
*****
I opened her good measure.
Later, it was late into our sleeping. In the morning I would learn that, on the busiest highway we'd probably went inside, the remaining forts had fallen into disrepair.
*****
In the wee hours, accompanied by random males, I now pictured Jean's sweet face, her kind smile, her calendar bereft of dates. She filled my world by Tuesday. I'd be damned if I'd be damned. I smiled as long legs failed the heavens.
I told my boss: "My vision temporarily went bright white. I've had to come in from the looks of things."
***
You will sing, even if they'd rather not admit it.
That last sentence, I thought, would be a really beautiful ending somehow.
At this point, though, I was getting frustrated with the machine's inability to come up with really new and shocking material based on the very limited "food" I'd handed it. I also realized my efforts would be futile if not vastly misunderstood in the scheme of LJI readership, and terminated the experiment.
I've mostly used this kind of process to assist me with lyric-writing and musical structure generation, burying the true meaning of a source text in a stream of apparent nonsense. I've never used this technique to write a story/"story" before, particularly with a semi-prescribed narrative-- and I was beginning to see that it would be a rather prolonged effort to use these techniques for such ends. It could probably generate some pretty amazing results-- if you had enough time to let the computer do its thing, and if you had the further time to carefully sift through a warehouse full of output text trying to find the diamonds in the rough.