Upcoming Auditions and Travel and Brown, Oh My.

Its been a veritable hive of industry lately.

First off, my ‘DOGS OF THE BLUE GODS’ play will be getting unveiled at Brown/Trinity Rep, Summer 2009.
Schwinggg, as they say in the classics.
Auditions are happening this coming weekend down at Brown University. I yam thrilled. Is very cool. Looking forward to meeting folks, and getting a look at the campus. I’ve written a whole new prologue to the play – oh the angst – took me at least an evening to do. Writing play script after the dense nature of prose, well, its like cream pouring from a jug.

Going full steam ahead editing the 800 page novel, another month or so and then it can be thrown at agents and I can forget about it and move on.

Also 30-odd pages into a deliciously political play, which may raise some hackles once its done – but I’m pleased with the quality of dialogue that’s emerging, and wondering just what the characters are going to do. As usual they’ll tell me by their actions.

Also moving ahead on another prose thing (short story? novella? who knows) that leapt up and demanded that I write it – so I’m bouncing back n forth between prose and script at the moment.

Had sniffs at some other works of mine from companies. More of those when they come to fruition, if its meant to be.

Keeping an eye out for the release of Starcraft 2 (just to be a geek for a moment). And I’ve got a backlog of movies to catch up on – so that nips at my heels as I write furiously. Still trying to assemble 300+ theatre reviews up online in some semblance of order, but its madness, wading through the quantities of stuff writing about my work. Still, it’ll have to be done.

Hmm, an audition. Oh boy. Well, we’ll see what happens. Always wary of things which confer a ’status’ to one set of people, and a lesser status to others, regardless of the situation. Auditions have always creeped me out in one way or another, political animal that I am.
This aside, I’m curious to meet the other playwrights, as well as the folks at Brown, which has a rep for good theatre work, and especially experimental stuff. Must mention that I have a scary play dealing with a Theatre Faculty and Drama…

But right now, I have the second half of a cool Japanese comedy to finish quickly before bedtime (By Itami – for those who know. For those who don’t, source ‘Tampopo’ – for one of the most exquisite films you’ll ever see.)

Until the next time, if my exuberance doesn’t get the better of me.

How to Make Elephants Fall Out of Cupboards

Got news that one of my plays will be done at Brown University this summer. I’ll be in attendance, as the saying goes – hopefully to have much fun and answer zillions of questions. Questions are always good – as they help one to define things to oneself.

About a year ago, when I had gone to University Wisconsin Oshkosh, and had the privilige of getting to talk with students – on matters ranging from Drama through to political science. I came back, all fired up – having discovered how brilliant it felt to try to create the same passion that I have for writing, in others.

To this end I created a ‘In a Perfect World – Here is the Course that I would Try to Teach.’

I thought it might be interesting, and help to convey a glimpse of my approach to Theatre, and writing in general.

How would you respond to a course detailed as follows:

Learn How to Make Elephants Fall Out of Cupboards

I think theater ought to be theatrical … you know, shuffling the pack
in different ways so that it’s — there’s always some kind of ambush
involved in the experience. You’re being ambushed by an unexpected word,
or by an elephant falling out of the cupboard, whatever it is.
TOM STOPPARD

The overall objective is to help students create theatre that doesn’t suck.

“I can sum up none of my plays. I can describe none of them, except to say:
That is what happened. That is what they said. That is what they did.”
(Harold Pinter)

While looking at a few key playwrights work, mainly Pinter’s ‘The Birthday Party’,
Dennis Potter’s ‘Brimstone and Treacle” and ‘The Singing Detective” among others,
the primary focus is about constant writing, and constant ongoing discussion of
students work, in order to get students used to the ability to create imaginative
scripts.

This course isn’t about ‘how to make the perfect one-act or three act play -
and it certainly isn’t about passively studying other playwrights or thematic
structures, in order to ‘duplicate’ their styles.

This is a course from the perspective of a non-academic working playwright,
who wants students to have the courage to find their own voice, get used to
creating their own theatrical worlds, inhabited by their own characters,
and tell their own unique stories along the way – and achieve creative satisfaction.

“A bad act done will fester and create in its own way. It’s not only goodness
that creates. Bad things create. They have their own yeast. ”
(Dennis Potter)

The course is about practical construction of genuinely interesting stories
for theatre, and interesting characters, and creating drama and conflict
and seeing how they play out.

This course does NOT work on the idea that ‘good work’ or ‘quality work’
means teaching how to create material that must be geared towards
commercial success, or be acceptable to corporate entertainment industries.

“You have to assert something about yourself in order to be yourself.”
(Dennis Potter)

Theatre is an art form, a creative craft. Therefore, what matters to me,
is the strength of the unique vision of the individual student, combined
with their increasing ability to create and sustain interesting theatrical stories.

And while there are courses which will teach students the techniques to
automatically churn out generic script material that don’t push boundaries
in any real way – this course isn’t one of them.

As I believe that good Theatrical stories should be indistinguishable from
the dialog and storylines of high (and sometimes low) quality Film, there
will also be continual showings and discussion of a wide range of world cinema -
examining the storylines and unpredictable conceptual approaches of many
of the rarely seen cutting edge ‘genre-blurring’ films from parts of Asia
- as well as European cinema, past and present.

In addition, as British playwright Dennis Potter chose to write primarily for television,
there will be a number of his works shown and discussed, in order to demonstrate
what is conceptually possible for the potential playwright, to create, within the
borders and constrictions of mainstream media.

As this is not a passive course, a constant requirement for students, will be to
produce a minimum of two pages of a dialog scene for each class – on a theme that
will be provided, as well as a weekly requirement to produce a 5 page script,
as well as a monthly 10 page ‘play’.

This may appear excessive, but the object is to train students into ‘doing the work’
and teaching them the personal discipline of putting words on paper.

Every student submission, both short and long, will be reviewed and comments given,
and the most interesting work, will be acted out – in order to get students
trained into the differences between their own internal voice, when creating
dialog, and the voices of others, when speaking their words
————————————————————<
- and that’s as far as I got. Naturally, this was interrupted by my urge to get writing.
Which I did.
In the last year – to give an idea of how my approach works – and keep in mind that I
consider this to be woefully insufficient, I’ve written:
3 full length plays, 2 ten minute plays, and an 800 page novel.

I hope to do better in 2009.

It Is Finished…

(The blog heading makes me think that I should be wearing a loin cloth, and surrounded by Anglo actresses wearing dark wigs.)

But the book is formally finished. The story has been written and completed.
Now, I am moving forward in the editing process. The current position is: I’m editing from page 495 – and the length of the book? 789 pages. Quite a monster – especially given that this is all just part one of a much larger story. I’m keen to be done with it, and to move on. There are stories to be told – and miles to go before we sleep. I’m sensing the political possibilities of book writing – the ability to directly address issues which otherwise are hidden from view.
I’m also interested in the emotional resonance that is possible with prose. The ability to inspire anger and horror, maybe even outrage…

For now though, the editing moves forward as fast as possible. Once that is complete, I’ll be able to see what sections need work, or need to be thrown out. Then its ’send to the agent’ time. Hopefully – despite the fact that its all just the opening shot of a larger operatic work, I wont have to revisit this world anytime soon. I have better worlds to focus on. And living in America, has shown me a multitude of things – some of which I want to dissect and examine, probably in ways that local citizens will not appreciate.

Writing on the Internet, is much like scribbling thoughts in a dark back alley. Some passersby may see the thoughts but ultimately its pale pasted sound and fury, signifying nothing. Pixels on a digital wind. Would ‘Story of the Eye’ have achieved its aim if written on a website? Would ‘Mein Kampf’? ‘Turner Diaries’? All of the inflammatory and pivotal works which have had a profound effect in the real world, would, I think, have dissipated on the winds of static chattering through servers, as a billion ‘consumers’ write to each other about the latest product they’re buying, or have bought, or want to buy.

He pauses, his mood thoughtful.

Prose is tough going. Editing even more so. Plays? Easy-peasy – a week and a half to two weeks of work, and that’s a full length piece created. Prose, on the other hand, is the proverbial horse of a different color. It actually takes *gasp* work…

I do seem to have found my voice, though. I started off with vague ideas of writing in a similar dense style as Mervyn Peake and other heroes of mine – and saw swiftly that actually, my prose style is derived more from the books I read as a kid, and which in various ways, luridly formed my younger writing self. None of them are high art in any way. Alastair Maclean, Stephen King, JT Edson… They are/were all damn fine writers. And more importantly, told a good story in a simple way. And it seems, that’s roughly the approach I’ve found for myself. Keep it simple. Avoid pretentiousness. Tell the story. Let the characters speak.

The book is sitting in the 800 page region, and it took roughly six months to write. Easily two to three of those months were taken up with me stumbling through the maze of learning the right tools to put words on the page, so as to communicate exactly what I want the reader to experience. So the book actually took less time than it seems. I have the urge for another story – but I’m trying to resist getting into it until this Saga is properly edited. When that’s done, I can move on and never look at it again.
See how I actually feel, after so much concerted creative effort.

The Final Night

The story I’ve been writing for the last six months or so, takes place over a period of about two weeks.
More or less ‘real time’ unfolds as a big Journey is embarked upon.
Now I’m at the point where the final night has been got through, and the story ends within a few hours.
Dawn, if you want to be Pythonesquely technical about it.
I have to resist the urge to rush towards the final stage of writing ‘the end.’ Not that it will be. Instantly I’ll back up some 400 pages to chapter 10 where I’m advancing slowly, editing, revising, and throwing out garbage.
‘Iteration.’ is the word, for prose. Continually going back and forth, I guess like a sculptor chipping away at stone, keeping the image hidden within the rock in mind, as one taps here, and then there – working slowly to reveal the creature within.

I was fairly moist and disturbed over the last few days, as some of my characters, who’ve fallen in love, got thoroughly intimate. Interesting to feel the discombobulation – as if I’m a parent who’s found the kids stash of porn magazines and dildo’s. Its one thing to find well-thumbed copies of mammarily focused magazines – its another thing entirely to find that and leather straps and butt-plugs. It kind of shakes the paradigm a little.
That said, I had to let the characters do what they wanted and needed to do, despite my constant thoughts which ranged between ‘Am I writing porn here?’ and ‘Are you sure you want your character to do that; say that; lick that finger…’
But characters will do what they have to do.

Now I’m inching towards a violent ‘reveal’ and a last scene – and then my characters journey – at least this part of it – will finally be at an end.
Its been interesting to delve into an imaginary world, with its own rules and peoples. As I come towards the end of this Saga (currently I’m approaching 720 pages) parts of my mind are already storing story ideas. They’re coming fast and furious as, I suppose, parts of my creative engines begin to close down, and I focus on the human elements for the final pages.
I’m tempted to reread some Proust, being contrary by nature, an evil Mary Poppins perhaps – after working on a literally gigantic landscape and canvas for so long, its alluring to consider a story set within a massively confined area of time and space.

That at said, the story ideas are yapping at my heels, like small, fragile, and very easily crunchable dogs. Each wanting their turn at becoming flesh and visible.
The bottom line for me is of ‘how much fun’ they’ll be to write.
The one set post-WW2, and which moves from Antarctica to the heart of US power? A little difficult.
The vampire one? Work – but fun.
*sighs*
Fun always wins. It has to. Otherwise what’s the point?
I’ve learned some things, let me share one of them:

I don’t write in order to become famous, or rich, or well-known.
I write because the stories well up inside me, and demand to be told.
And if I don’t write them, nobody ever will.
That just too sad to contemplate.
So, I write.

In the past, the attitude of some folks, towards the spread of my theatre work, would puzzle me – the enmity and the envy. As if what I’m doing hasn’t meant bloody hard work on my part, and having to make hard choices between hedonism and productivity.
Its good to have had the fame, and the trappings of it, good and bad, right down to the archetypal addictions – which I managed to climb free of.
I think I’m a more self aware, acute, and less materialistic person for it.

But the attitude of those who simply want ‘to be known’ – as if this accomplishment could fix anything; use creativity as a tool to be some kind of salve on the psyche’s gaping wound amidst a desolate life…

*shudders*

The Colonial approach is useful at times – the self flagellation of Work and Discipline.

And yeah, I pretend at times that I’m not being grabbed by the scruff of the neck, and thrown onto roller coasters to ride the unknown ride of the blank page.

I juggle with the Performer mindset versus the Writer mindset – and always have. The schizophrenic urge to say ‘Look at me!’ followed instantly by the recluse muttering ‘Leave me alone, don’t look at me.’

Perhaps that’s something all theatre writer/performers have – the split personality desire to be Seen – and yet Not Seen.

Ego versus Humility.

The word ‘conflicted’ – doesn’t even begin to encompass its dimensions.

However, (and here is where the Colonial taskmaster comes in; climbs onto the shoulders like a Troll in a fairytale, and begins prodding mercilessly) so long as the sense of being driven, and all the internal conflicted clashing views, result in quality writing, then that’s all that matters.

The Wide Bright Sea

Its taken a long time.

That old cliche about ‘little did I know’ seems applicable here. The Saga now is a fraction over 650 pages, and I’ve brought my characters out of the latest danger (or at least away from the things that threatened them underground) and they’re about to discover the coastal region.

A million years back, when I first got the story idea, and created a theatrical version, one of the initial titles was ‘From a Castle to a Coast.’

I had this simple idea of a Journey, where the travel itself became a character – as my heroes and heroines struggled to stay alive as they moved across a landscape and geology which hopefully had a range of meanings to the reader/viewer.
The last ‘formal’ monster in the plot, has fallen into a bottomless Pit.

And now my characters, unaware of a number of nasty approaching surprises, move towards their final destination.

Action scenes are exhausting to write, I’ve discovered. How does Koontz (or King) do it? Good grief.
Writing is very much about playing at being a creator of a universe, where you control the stage, the actors, the lighting cameraman…everything.
And precision is partly the key.
What is on the page, and how it is said, conveys the emotion of the moment to the reader.
So when the action erupts, the film being made, slows down radically. I’ve discovered this as one set piece after another occurs, and my characters have to fight or somehow escape.
And there’re no shortcuts to telling the story, unfortunately.

Its taken me 5 months of writing to reach the 650 page mark. Real slow. One of the initial reasons for the slowness, was that I had to learn how to correctly write prose. How to structure sentences. What to say, and what not to say.
(Much of storytelling is about letting the reader’s mind paint the pictures.)
I probably wasted at least two months worth of writing, in the painstakingly sharp learning curve. In addition, given that I still have no clue as to what a verb or an adverb is, I had to learn a whole bunch of basic grammar – not necessarily their names – just, what to use and how and when to use it.

Its all about making those movies in the minds of a reader. Prose writing truly is the ultimate power trip. After years of hoping that others ‘get’ what I’m saying in my theatre scripts, and having to watch as others create my work – its delicious to be able to precisely put down on paper, the world that I am making, and to know that a reader will feel the story exactly as I want them to.

The smear of orange across a purple sky at sunset. The acrid sting in the back of the throat at ancient dust in dank tunnels. The flicker of an eye at a crotch, followed by the wet pinkness of a tongue emerging to moisten a set of lips…

The poet in me comes out to play with prose, as I choose my lighting for each scene, and where I want the camera to zoom in on particular details that – for some reason – I feel should be used to show the reader a ‘moment’ in time.

I like to think that I have a slightly better handle on how to communicate in prose.
Play writing is not prose

The next thing I write should emerge much much faster. I can feel the ideas yammering away inside me, but as a writer, I’ve learned to reign these things in, and to be patient. ‘Slowly slowly catchee monkey.’

The finish line is almost in sight. The important thing is to ‘do the work.’

Deep Mountains

My saga is approaching 600 pages, and I can feel that the end is somewhere up ahead, through the mists of some last plot twists and viciousness.

I seem to have a monthly output of some 100 pages – and I’m sure that the reason its so slow, is because I’m creating an entire imaginary world in which my story takes place. Well, its partially imaginary. If anyone ever gets to read it, they’ll discover exactly what I mean when I say ‘partially.’

I’m enjoying the craft of writing, but had a lot of time for contemplation of where I am, as well as where I want to be.

Its been months since I wrote a play, or submitted material, and its weighing on me – the idea that I’m slacking in some way. Of course, to the average wannabee ‘creative’ American who delights in shallow hedonism in lieu of an actual quality, depth-filled life, I may seem like a hive of industry – but I know better. Its irksome to have spent almost six months so far, on just one creative project. In addition, I find myself wondering what exactly ’success’ might mean in this society – especially given the fact that there’s little to nothing within it, that I would want to participate in. I’ve done the rock and roll lifestyle in a big way already, and that holds few attractions.

I find myself increasingly repulsed by much of the beliefs and attitudes that are considered ‘normal’ here – ranging from a level of naivety that would be lethal elsewhere, through to a reliance by people in the idea of there being a benign political system in charge. As if lists aren’t continually and increasingly being drawn up of enemies.

You can’t be a radical if the State has your address on file, yet here its considered normal for people not to be concerned about the State knowing their location – and I watch amused as people mouth off as if they have ‘rights’ – and more importantly, as if the always-malevolent State isn’t going to stamp on them when the time comes.

Given that I’m pretty sure that I know what’s coming – it spurs me on to work even harder and faster. Time is running out, visibly.

That said, I embrace my own schizophrenic urges; the contradictory artistic desire for recognition of creative worth – and the desire for a return to safety from utter anonymity.
Its going to be interesting to see if I can juggle these two violently opposing desires: the attention whore versus the gypsy.

Now back to the deep mountains, where my characters are threading through dark tunnels, en route to their destiny.

Trees and Snakes

Always been wary of describing myself as an artist. Even when my plays won rave reviews and worship and awards. I’d just run across too many people who represented themselves as ‘artists’ and yet seemed to be doing nothing of any substantive value to their profession. I suppose there’s more than a little bit of low self esteem at work in my perspective, given that I have one year of high school – and that was my formal education over and done with. I spent an inordinate amount of time surrounded by people that I was acutely aware all had much more ‘education’ than me. And I suppose in my little colonial mind, this was an indication of something suggesting they were ‘better’ than I was.

Now I think I can see, that what they were all better at – was Conformity.

I never was.  And still am not comfortable with the idea of ‘fitting in.’   Fuck that, as the saying goes.

I was watching some arbitrary item on TV recently, and someone made the astounding comment that ‘everyone wants to be a part of something larger than themselves.’  And I grinned and shook my head in disbelief. People actually have this kind of antlike urge to merge with a Larger conformist society?

Ew.

But its true, I suppose. I exist very contentedly in a nonconformist world of ‘make do’ – old clothing, fixed things, and even if you threatened me with a gun, I couldnt tell you what brand any of my clothing is. Yet this is not the norm – especially not in America – which is uber sensitive to brand names. (As if this somehow impacts on the lives of the starving kids in sweatshops in india, China, and Pakistan who make the wobbling ‘Merkins clothing.)

I’m digressing.

The reason I raise the issue of ‘Art’ and ‘artistry’ – is that I’m close to cracking the 400 page mark on the book I’m writing, and looking back across the hundreds of pages of the massive sprawling Epic I’m creating, I think maybe – just maybe,  mind – I think I might be making something of artistic value.

I’ll allow myself that little thought. Even though it doesnt sit well with me. The whips of dominatrixes have nothing on the self flagellation of post-Colonial mindsets.  *grins*

Almost time to get to work. (Been up since 5am, and its now approaching 7am – and the workday goes on until around 3pm – beat that for a seven-day-a-week schedule).

Oh well, at least I’m honing aspects of my craft. Prose is a horse of a different color.

I think I’m approaching the ‘third act’ of my story, where we hurtle towards various resolutions.

The object of this game, is to complete the writing.

Then subsequent games will begin, as I attempt to share the story with the world.

Its all just a roll of the dice ultimately.

Onward…

The Saga Continues

Been a while since I updated this. What’s happened? Well, currently I’m almost at 350 pages of my Epic unfolding saga. The frightening thing to contemplate is that I’m (hopefully) somewhere a little over halfway through the story. It makes me wince to realize just how much writing has gone into this.

I’m so used to creating plays, and after a week or so of work, throwing it out to the market as is, first draft and good to go, ready to be staged. That’s how I’ve always done it.

‘Prose’ on the other hand, is a kettle filled with fish of a different color.

I was chatting with an actor friend of mine, who did some great work in Crusoe, this new US TV show – and he and I go way back. I’d written plays with him in mind, and he got some good mileage (as we both did) from them. But the point is, I was talking with him, and I raised the point that I want to be a ‘different’ kind of African writer. Almost every African, or former African writer that springs to mind, seems to write about their African experience, and milk this in order to achieve success.

Nothing wrong with that. But for me, I want to do it – or try to do it differently. Instead of writing stories endlessly detailing aspects of the African experience – I want to try and create stories that reflect some of the African sensibilities in action; make stories that convey my own cheerfully maladjusted, anarchist, disillusioned, post-Colonial African viewpoint.

I’m wildly jaundiced at the limiting idea of forever setting story content within the admittedly bristling, poignant, and violent African landscape. Yes the continent has lots of possibilities – BUT – in order to convey an artistic truth, sometimes one has to take the war to the Enemy itself.

Much of African writing sits in its own little shelf, a quaint thing purely for those interested in that part of the world. While the Steven Kings or Tom Clancys and others of this world manage to blur these geographical boundaries in the minds of the mass audience, most of the African writers stay firmly trapped within the context of perceived of as ‘being African writers.’

What about stories that talk in the language of the West, use its metaphors, codes, and pop culture, and explore themes that the West, in its strangely supremacist mindset, wouldn’t generally associate with ‘an African writer’…

Anyway. That’s what I’m trying to do. Make something…different. Time will tell if I achieve it.

Thus far, 2-3 months of solid writing has got me 350 pages and midway through a fairly wild ride of bizarre proportions.  Wish I could write faster. Constantly irked at my own slowness.

Now, its time for lunch – and then I have to get back to my characters.

Non Violence Doesn’t Work – and oh yeah, the Book…

Raised my head up out of my unfolding Saga briefly, and saw that the corporate media was playing with its political sock puppets. There’s nothing more creepy than seeing the left and right hands of the military industrial complex jabbering at each other as if they’re valid separate entities which actually represent anything of the values and aspirations of the average citizen. It makes me wish for some kind of abrupt end to the charade of what passes for civilization. I was talking to someone at a local so-called ‘progressive’ collective here in the provincial dump I’m staying in, and I was watching the dulled-down ‘Hi I’m on valium’ responses, and thinking , yeah, people do get the politics and Governments that they deserve.

From being on front lines during an actual revolution, and getting firsthand experience of the violence of the State, as well as the well-meaning but ditsy efforts of the progressive-minded, I came to the conclusion a long long time ago, that ‘peaceful resistance’ and ‘non-violence’ as methods, simply don’t work. They might have worked once upon a time when States could be shamed in some way – but nowadays, the simple immorality and double-standards that are the norm for most Governments, mean that this stupid romantic idea of ’shaming’ anyone into changing their ways, or ’setting a moral example’ is nothing but a big wank, to use the vernacular. Its a joke, and a waste of time.

Those in power delight in seeing people hand themselves over to being jailed or hurt, in so-called ‘protest’ actions. The days of Gandhi are gone, and the world has moved on – and the big moral stands and examples that may once have been effective, are about as effective as someone about to step into the gas chamber, pausing to sing a rousing and stirring song…before being gassed, and their corpse thrown on the pile with everyone else. There is no morality with Government – therefore there is no use whatsoever in doing anything which is about ’shaming’ it into a course of action. And its equally masturbatory to try justify peaceful protest by saying ‘Oh well, we’re showing the public how bad the State is’. No you’re not. Not when the State controls the Media, which means no one will see your big, deeply meaningful protest, or arrest, or anything. Again, its a waste of energy – which the Powers That Be delight in seeing people channel themselves towards. Why?

Because it changes NOTHING.

To quote from my own play ‘Bring Me Gandhi’ – which was written and staged under apartheid -  “Passive resistance? Bring me Gandhi, and we’ll fuck him up faster than we fucked up Biko.”

I guess this little rant comes from seeing the stupidly ineffectual and sanctimonious statements by protesters at the democratic convention, in the tiny little mention that the Media bothered to give them. They clearly have no idea about their reality, or their weaknesses, or how to actually attack the System. (I’m wary of stepping into the paranoia of the right-wingers and racists with their ‘new world order’ catchphrases. Therefore, I prefer to use the phrase ‘the System’. That is what it is, after all.)

Gear change.

In other news, the writing is going well. I’m constantly learning improved ways of conveying the unfolding movie of Storytelling in prose. I think I’m making something quite unique. I was reading it yesterday, and thanks to massive editing, had stepped back enough to look at it disappasionately  – and I was constantly getting thoughts of ‘what the hell?’ – which, I think is pretty much what a reader will be thinking, if and when it ever gets to the point of being published and/or read.

Step one for me, is to have the story done, and done in a way that is the best that I can tell it. Then I’ll turn my attention to being open to what the Universe wills for me and my little Frankenstein monster.

Currently approaching 170 pages. Doing a lot of constant re-editing, as I apply the newly learned skills, to earlier sections, and do my best to repair and fix the dumb stuff. Constantly irked at the slowness of my writing. To me, almost six weeks of writing and with only 170 pages of prose to show for it, seems absurdly slow. I want to be done with this, so that the other stories jostling for my attention, in the under-layers of my imagination, have their chance at seeing a bit of daylight.

Oh well. The workday begins. (Been up, as usual since around 5.30am – I allow myself to futz around, watch UK big brother, and generally wake up for an hour or two, before settling in to write until late afternoon.)

My Own Private Narnia

Been a while since I wrote anything here. Not that anyone reads this, which is fine. The internet, despite being touted as the best thing since the invention of the double bed – does practically boil down to scribbling graffiti on an alley wall. It also means that the individual sits in isolation and while ostensibly is plugged in to ‘whats going on’ – sits on their ass and outside, nothing changes in reality.

Its only a matter of time before the rug is pulled overtly, and millions of isolated folks will have to find new ways to occupy themselves, like – gee, I dunno – ‘protesting’ ‘running for office’ or ‘committing useful acts of profound public mischief’. All of these things are much healthier than the delusion of staying literally isolated while pretending to have a grip on the real world outside the window.

I’m now a hundred pages into a book, which has been a great learning curve for me on a variety of fronts. Its useful to be confronted with ones own inadequacies as far as punctuation and grammar go. But I learn fast, and getting some structural skills, the better to put thoughts and concepts down on paper and communicate them to any reader, regardless of whether they’re an academic or some mouth breather.

Without going into too much detail about the book, its mostly fiction, and is something hopefully epic and imaginative in scope. A long time ago, I came up with the first part of a Story, and wrote a play – thereafter, I created a film script based on the play. Currently, an agent has said they love the script, but hey, why not write it as a book? Besides, Hollywood seems to deal better with gigantic budget films, if they happen to have been published and fairly successful books first. So in I dived, and thus far, seem to be averaging about 100 pages every few weeks. As to whether thats a lot, I have no clue – but I’m aware that whats being created is something fairly unique.

To me writing is like taking a dump. You know that feeling midway, when you want to be done with it, wiped and out of there? Well, I have the same thing with the unfolding stories I write. They emerge and until they’re out of me, there’s no proper rest. (I thought about going into mental full colon metaphors, but Christ, you know?)

Thus far, I’ve reached the equivalent of page two on the film script, and its taken 100 pages of prose to get there, which suggests that the thing I’m writing, is going to be in the area of 1300 pages. And this is just the first installment of the story.

I was trying to come up with a list of my influences, and it started getting a little ridiculous as the names emerged. Any list that has both Enid Blyton, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, and Clive Barker on it, has to be a little weird.

For the purposes of the book, been having to dredge up my old occult and esoteric studies – as structurally, I decided to use a Druidic index over the unfolding story, to mirror seasons and scenes – as well as rather a lot of Demonology.

All in all, its fun actually, to be pulling this creaking dusty door open, and finally shedding a little light on my own private Narnia.

Will scribble some more on this grimy alley wall in the backwaters of the internet, when I’ve traveled further in my work.