end of month 1
june, july, and august to go.
a quarter of a short story down.
things are not coming along quickly. this is the part of the writing process where i realize i haven't worked on a project in two weeks. this is the part of the writing process where i don't want to go back to writing; where the bottom drops out, and suddenly i'm thinking this isn't something i can do.
a fog has descended onto my head, and i can't follow a single train of thought. i haven't felt this unfocused in a long time. a blog post even this short is tough to make.
so far: i am pretty unsatisfied with my performance.
so far: i suck at writing.
so far: i haven't figured out how to do this.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Achilles had no friends.
Achilles had no friends; he was the greatest warrior that history -- real or imagined -- has ever known. he killed not only Trojans, with whom he was at war, in the thousands -- but Greeks as well...the guys on his own team, the people of whom he was a leader. the Iliad is a poem about the 'wrath of Achilles;' it was unquenchable, unstoppable...inhuman. Achilles' anger and his sheer lust for glory made him an implacable force on the battlefield. he cut through men like a flaming sword, like a heavenly fire. he was a saint of blood, he was born to kill. by the end of the poem, he has no friends -- he offends his king, alienates his fellow warriors, and his only friend in the story, Patroclus, is slaughtered. he is a brooding, vengeful bastard.
in fact, Achilles is ensconced, encapsulated in the pruned, autumnal garden of his selfish desire -- he has chosen death and glory as the way of his life, and it has isolated him. Bernard Knox, who writes the introduction to the Fagles translation of the Iliad, asserts that it is Achilles' solopsism that grants him godlikeness; his singularity of purpose, his singularity of being, its arrogance, its refusal to join the rest of mankind in a common concession to humanity. Achilles is a man (granted, a demi-god); he is mortal, and lives among mortals, yet throughout the story he makes no connection, cannot join himself in any social bonds with mortal men. he aspires to greatness, to glory and even godhood in some sense, and leaves mankind behind him as something to be stepped over, cut through; until, Knox argues, Priam, king of Troy, comes to supplicate Achilles for the body of his son, Hector. here, Achilles ceases to be a god, ceases to be simply a force of personality, and becomes human........the eloquence and the love of Priam for his son has touched him. Achilles falls into this human reality: he too, has a father; he too, will wound him with his own impending death. he is able to feel something different than his bellicose single-mindedness; Priam anoints him with human compassion.
Achilles is doomed; he does not die at the end of the poem, but we know his life is sealed, bound to the death of Hector (whom he kills, knowing this full well). but he is pulled within the human realm before he dies, joins the race of mortal beings. he too will meet death, like the all the rest; he is as good as human. why not join them in life? according to Knox, the Iliad is the tragedy of Achilles; perhaps he learns too late, but it is never too little to learn how to become a part of this race.
in fact, Achilles is ensconced, encapsulated in the pruned, autumnal garden of his selfish desire -- he has chosen death and glory as the way of his life, and it has isolated him. Bernard Knox, who writes the introduction to the Fagles translation of the Iliad, asserts that it is Achilles' solopsism that grants him godlikeness; his singularity of purpose, his singularity of being, its arrogance, its refusal to join the rest of mankind in a common concession to humanity. Achilles is a man (granted, a demi-god); he is mortal, and lives among mortals, yet throughout the story he makes no connection, cannot join himself in any social bonds with mortal men. he aspires to greatness, to glory and even godhood in some sense, and leaves mankind behind him as something to be stepped over, cut through; until, Knox argues, Priam, king of Troy, comes to supplicate Achilles for the body of his son, Hector. here, Achilles ceases to be a god, ceases to be simply a force of personality, and becomes human........the eloquence and the love of Priam for his son has touched him. Achilles falls into this human reality: he too, has a father; he too, will wound him with his own impending death. he is able to feel something different than his bellicose single-mindedness; Priam anoints him with human compassion.
Achilles is doomed; he does not die at the end of the poem, but we know his life is sealed, bound to the death of Hector (whom he kills, knowing this full well). but he is pulled within the human realm before he dies, joins the race of mortal beings. he too will meet death, like the all the rest; he is as good as human. why not join them in life? according to Knox, the Iliad is the tragedy of Achilles; perhaps he learns too late, but it is never too little to learn how to become a part of this race.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
live, from the sunset strip, its studio 60...
nothing makes me want to blog more than Aaron Sorkin news.
so "Studio 60 from the Sunset Strip" isn't really news...or, rather i'm a very untimely reporter...but suddenly i'm all hot and bothered about it.
it all starts with the West Wing; the show that nobody wants to watch until they get irrevocably hooked. its one of those things that happens gradually, but feels like it happens overnight; just ask my ex-girlfriends, my various roommates, or me. the Bravo reruns caught me around the throat, a couple years ago. its important that i specify the Bravo-run of the West Wing and not its network run at the time; after season 4, Sorkin left the show. i never gave it a chance after that. it might not have been all that bad, but how could it ever be as good again? the point is, i've never watched a whole episode that Sorkin didn't write, with the exception of Sunday's series finale. cute episode, by the way. worth the fuss? no, not really. the show was long overdue for cancelling, without Sorkin's pen. but i couldn't resist watching the very last episode of my very favourite, if devolved, television show. good thing i did. the bright spots? the commercials of course, specifically this one -- a thirty second teaser for Sorkin's shiny new Studio 60. the cast looks phenomenal.
can't wait. :)
so "Studio 60 from the Sunset Strip" isn't really news...or, rather i'm a very untimely reporter...but suddenly i'm all hot and bothered about it.
it all starts with the West Wing; the show that nobody wants to watch until they get irrevocably hooked. its one of those things that happens gradually, but feels like it happens overnight; just ask my ex-girlfriends, my various roommates, or me. the Bravo reruns caught me around the throat, a couple years ago. its important that i specify the Bravo-run of the West Wing and not its network run at the time; after season 4, Sorkin left the show. i never gave it a chance after that. it might not have been all that bad, but how could it ever be as good again? the point is, i've never watched a whole episode that Sorkin didn't write, with the exception of Sunday's series finale. cute episode, by the way. worth the fuss? no, not really. the show was long overdue for cancelling, without Sorkin's pen. but i couldn't resist watching the very last episode of my very favourite, if devolved, television show. good thing i did. the bright spots? the commercials of course, specifically this one -- a thirty second teaser for Sorkin's shiny new Studio 60. the cast looks phenomenal.
can't wait. :)
Monday, May 08, 2006
buttons in funny places
i'm elated; i just found a button on my laptop that turns off the touchpad.
you have to understand; its not that i have meathooks or anything, but on my last laptop, i could barely type because i kept grazing the touchpad....
so if i were typing middle of another line something, randomly
my cursor would jump to the
...and i can't tell you how annoying that is when you think you're writing your opus.
as it turns out, what i was writing then wasn't going to be my great work. but touchpad misshaps are no less annoying now than they were back then, so it is nice, now that i have redefined the role and importance and type of writing in my life, to finally be able to peck at this keyboard without having to wonder where the words will end up.
at any rate, here i am with a new laptop, and a summer off from school -- with new plans for my former opus, new plans for a new opus, and most importantly, germs of ideas for other little pieces along the way. these last i'd like to focus on the most. i've only really written two short stories that i'd ever let anybody read. one needs about a thousand man hours of editing. the other needs less editing and more retouching. they are not bad. if i can fiddle with them a bit, they might even be good. they give me hope that i'll be able to write in the short form successfully. i plan on trying it out; if it works out the way i hope, i may send a few pieces out to run the publishing gauntlet. if the little guys survive, they'll be 'real,' i'll get to say i'm published, and maybe i'll even see some money. it won't be enough to pay rent; i'll be able to buy toothpaste and toilet paper and a nice chicken dinner if i'm lucky. but no Gepetto would ever be so happy.
let's set some goals:
i'm aiming low here, i know, but i'm not going to ask for much more than three short stories this summer. that's really because i only have three ideas, but let's all pretend that its because i'm monumentally gifted and that if i try to write any more than that it will put undue strain on my fragile body, and that because being such a genius is so exhausting i'll have to be bedridden for five months if i manage to pump out more that three literary treasures. let's pretend also that the nap i'm going to have to take after writing this post is for the same reason. everyone got it? good.
so, i have three ideas. one of them is what i like to politely call a reworking of Borges's "the Circular Ruins;" you might impolitely call it a "rip-off," but if we can get together over lunch on this one, i'm sure we'd be able to agree on the backhanded term "inspired by" and walk away satisfied.
one idea is about something called 'the Book of Lost Thoughts,' and it came from me wondering what happens to all of the little lines of poetry and prose i've composed in my head while walking, only to forget them completely upon arrival at whatever my destination.
one idea is about buffalo. the phrase that keeps flickering on the screen of my brain is "buffalo underworld"........its not about organized crime, or gangs, or our lovely, corrupt and useless politicians (ok, i didn't vote, i have no right to complain, yadda yadda).......but because buffalo manages to be a small and incestuous and inbred city; people's secrets get passed around like currency, street gossip is almost always reliable, and everyone's got a reputation for something. the word "sordid" is the best i can think of to describe it. the strange part is people take a certain kind of twisted pride in all that sordid stuff here. i'd venture a guess to say that any city is like that, but i don't live in any city, i live in buffalo. and because i am an absolute retard for mythology, i of course plan to work in some references to the classical (and non-classical) depictions of the Underworld....because....sometimes buffalo feels like...Purgatory or something....Sheol...the abode of the dead...
anyway...a story a month this summer.
i should be able to do that, right?
i'll let you know...
you have to understand; its not that i have meathooks or anything, but on my last laptop, i could barely type because i kept grazing the touchpad....
so if i were typing middle of another line something, randomly
my cursor would jump to the
...and i can't tell you how annoying that is when you think you're writing your opus.
as it turns out, what i was writing then wasn't going to be my great work. but touchpad misshaps are no less annoying now than they were back then, so it is nice, now that i have redefined the role and importance and type of writing in my life, to finally be able to peck at this keyboard without having to wonder where the words will end up.
at any rate, here i am with a new laptop, and a summer off from school -- with new plans for my former opus, new plans for a new opus, and most importantly, germs of ideas for other little pieces along the way. these last i'd like to focus on the most. i've only really written two short stories that i'd ever let anybody read. one needs about a thousand man hours of editing. the other needs less editing and more retouching. they are not bad. if i can fiddle with them a bit, they might even be good. they give me hope that i'll be able to write in the short form successfully. i plan on trying it out; if it works out the way i hope, i may send a few pieces out to run the publishing gauntlet. if the little guys survive, they'll be 'real,' i'll get to say i'm published, and maybe i'll even see some money. it won't be enough to pay rent; i'll be able to buy toothpaste and toilet paper and a nice chicken dinner if i'm lucky. but no Gepetto would ever be so happy.
let's set some goals:
i'm aiming low here, i know, but i'm not going to ask for much more than three short stories this summer. that's really because i only have three ideas, but let's all pretend that its because i'm monumentally gifted and that if i try to write any more than that it will put undue strain on my fragile body, and that because being such a genius is so exhausting i'll have to be bedridden for five months if i manage to pump out more that three literary treasures. let's pretend also that the nap i'm going to have to take after writing this post is for the same reason. everyone got it? good.
so, i have three ideas. one of them is what i like to politely call a reworking of Borges's "the Circular Ruins;" you might impolitely call it a "rip-off," but if we can get together over lunch on this one, i'm sure we'd be able to agree on the backhanded term "inspired by" and walk away satisfied.
one idea is about something called 'the Book of Lost Thoughts,' and it came from me wondering what happens to all of the little lines of poetry and prose i've composed in my head while walking, only to forget them completely upon arrival at whatever my destination.
one idea is about buffalo. the phrase that keeps flickering on the screen of my brain is "buffalo underworld"........its not about organized crime, or gangs, or our lovely, corrupt and useless politicians (ok, i didn't vote, i have no right to complain, yadda yadda).......but because buffalo manages to be a small and incestuous and inbred city; people's secrets get passed around like currency, street gossip is almost always reliable, and everyone's got a reputation for something. the word "sordid" is the best i can think of to describe it. the strange part is people take a certain kind of twisted pride in all that sordid stuff here. i'd venture a guess to say that any city is like that, but i don't live in any city, i live in buffalo. and because i am an absolute retard for mythology, i of course plan to work in some references to the classical (and non-classical) depictions of the Underworld....because....sometimes buffalo feels like...Purgatory or something....Sheol...the abode of the dead...
anyway...a story a month this summer.
i should be able to do that, right?
i'll let you know...
Saturday, May 06, 2006
"May the Christian Lord guide my hand..."
"...against your ROman POPEry!"
this has got to be the funniest line ever uttered in a movie. the conviction with which it is delivered makes it funny...and the word "popery." as in "the act of pope-ing."
i am sitting here watching a mediocre movie to watch Daniel Day-Lewis be amazing as Bill the Butcher, and he's the one who gets to shout that line and be admirably repulsive in Gangs of New York; what's more, i'm watching it from the comfort of my own apartment as i type this entry -- fingerwork that would admittedly be put to better use writing all the make-up papers i've got to do before monday. but the point is this: i've just gotten a laptop for my very own. handy in the event that i'd ever want to, you know, be a writer.
which is good news for you. because, now, while instead of just rotting my brain in front of the telie, i can rot my brain AND post to this lovely little site.
which i will start doing. right after i get to watch Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York.
cheers.
this has got to be the funniest line ever uttered in a movie. the conviction with which it is delivered makes it funny...and the word "popery." as in "the act of pope-ing."
i am sitting here watching a mediocre movie to watch Daniel Day-Lewis be amazing as Bill the Butcher, and he's the one who gets to shout that line and be admirably repulsive in Gangs of New York; what's more, i'm watching it from the comfort of my own apartment as i type this entry -- fingerwork that would admittedly be put to better use writing all the make-up papers i've got to do before monday. but the point is this: i've just gotten a laptop for my very own. handy in the event that i'd ever want to, you know, be a writer.
which is good news for you. because, now, while instead of just rotting my brain in front of the telie, i can rot my brain AND post to this lovely little site.
which i will start doing. right after i get to watch Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York.
cheers.
reason not to have a girlfriend #6
(today is 1/23/07. this is a retroposted draft i had, lingering around, unpublished. why? it wasn't for any special lack of quality...so, who knows. here it is, restored to my lovely little weblog.)
i am going to make a general statement here, and it won't be pretty:
girls are needy.
ok, before half of you get started, give me a chance to say this: of course not all girls are needy. of course there are exceptions, and no i shouldn't be so enslaved to gender stereotyping, and i don't know what i could possibly be thinking by making such a statement except...
girls are needy.
i'm not saying men aren't needy in equally annoying ways. i'm not saying girls aren't deservedly needy. i'm not saying that anyone wouldn't be needy when you enter into the pact that is a relationship. in fact, that demand on your time and attention is justified when you've made that agreement with someone, when you've taken that step. things in your life change, and necessarily so.
i have always been drawn to women who were strong, independant, even stubborn, i think as a guard against that intense demand upon my time.
and the girls i have been drawn to, they will either have nothing to do with me, or they become every other girl i have ever dated. they become 'girlfriend,' and they lose all their own interests and replace them with me. i turn them to mush, for whatever reason. they lose the distinction of character that drew me to them in the first place.
they begin to latch on to me, to get upset when i spend too long in the computer lab, or want to go out with the boys, or spend time wandering my own thoughts. they get upset when i do things that don't include them, or me thinking about them.
like posting on a weblog.
and there this girl, a girl i am not (yet?) dating for whom i must cut this post short.
and she is not my girlfriend.
she is still just a girl.
and reason not to have a girlfriend #6 is:
girls are needy
i am going to make a general statement here, and it won't be pretty:
girls are needy.
ok, before half of you get started, give me a chance to say this: of course not all girls are needy. of course there are exceptions, and no i shouldn't be so enslaved to gender stereotyping, and i don't know what i could possibly be thinking by making such a statement except...
girls are needy.
i'm not saying men aren't needy in equally annoying ways. i'm not saying girls aren't deservedly needy. i'm not saying that anyone wouldn't be needy when you enter into the pact that is a relationship. in fact, that demand on your time and attention is justified when you've made that agreement with someone, when you've taken that step. things in your life change, and necessarily so.
i have always been drawn to women who were strong, independant, even stubborn, i think as a guard against that intense demand upon my time.
and the girls i have been drawn to, they will either have nothing to do with me, or they become every other girl i have ever dated. they become 'girlfriend,' and they lose all their own interests and replace them with me. i turn them to mush, for whatever reason. they lose the distinction of character that drew me to them in the first place.
they begin to latch on to me, to get upset when i spend too long in the computer lab, or want to go out with the boys, or spend time wandering my own thoughts. they get upset when i do things that don't include them, or me thinking about them.
like posting on a weblog.
and there this girl, a girl i am not (yet?) dating for whom i must cut this post short.
and she is not my girlfriend.
she is still just a girl.
and reason not to have a girlfriend #6 is:
girls are needy
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