Chapter two was finished this afternoon. I think my favourite part about writing a book, at least so far, is finding out what happens. It’s a great feeling when you go to bed looking forward to waking up and discovering how the story progresses.
Finishing chapters is fun as well because at the end of each so far, and probably at the end of all of them, I have a little interlude about characters that haven’t really entered the story yet. One is a bit of back story, and the other is a set up for something that happens in Chapter 3. I think I said before that I’m wary of rushing ahead to get to “payoffs” from some of the setups, and having the interludes to skip back or forth or sideways in the story is enormous fun. Hopefully they should make people really excited about what’s coming next, as well.
I’m not ready to put anything up on here yet, but I think the first interlude will be one of the first things to get shown off.
Wednesday 28 May 2008
Sunday 25 May 2008
I might be wrong
Well I went back to Starbucks because I was sitting at my desk until 11 looking at the rain. I think I need The Routine more than it needs me.
The main think I think I’ve learnt so far about writing is about what it takes to do a first draft. I mostly write a first draft for a short story in one or two sittings, pretty much blind. I might know the kind of thing I’m writing, and what has to be in it, but I’ll find out what is going on as I write, and it’s only when I get to the second draft that I really fit it together. Really, the first draft of something so short you can write it in one sitting is based on your own ignorance of what you are doing.
The problem is, I can’t rely on ignorance to get me through a novel. You have to be aware of the bits that need to happen, and that they might not get written for ages; you have to make them possible, to keep them in the realm potential.
I’ve written that in the past tense, but I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m still setting up and haven’t begun to knock down. These are just things that I’m acutely aware of.
The main think I think I’ve learnt so far about writing is about what it takes to do a first draft. I mostly write a first draft for a short story in one or two sittings, pretty much blind. I might know the kind of thing I’m writing, and what has to be in it, but I’ll find out what is going on as I write, and it’s only when I get to the second draft that I really fit it together. Really, the first draft of something so short you can write it in one sitting is based on your own ignorance of what you are doing.
The problem is, I can’t rely on ignorance to get me through a novel. You have to be aware of the bits that need to happen, and that they might not get written for ages; you have to make them possible, to keep them in the realm potential.
I’ve written that in the past tense, but I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m still setting up and haven’t begun to knock down. These are just things that I’m acutely aware of.
Saturday 24 May 2008
Strrarrbrrucks
Progress is constant, creeping, even. I don’t want to rush these early stages of it though. But I am moving forward every day, including today, in spite of a break with The Routine.
The Routine was basically to go to starbucks in the morning, drink Chai tea and write. It was going well, and without going out on the second morning of writing the book may well of stalled stock still. So thank you, Starbucks, I appreciate your ability to create enough different noises so that no one noise dominates and becomes distracting. Yesterday, however, I was told that I was ordering my tea wrong. There are two types of chai tea you can get in starbucks; a hot water and tea bag affair that is spiced and very slightly bitter. The other is a chai latte, that is about 20% froth and 70% milk. The spiced taste is faint, like it is being remembered rather than experienced and instead of being slightly bitter it is sweet, like a kitten’s vomit.
I’d been given the latter latte once before and after trying to drink it for a few minuets I went back and asked for a normal one, which they did very politely and it was fine. I don’t mind that, it was ok.
The problem I have was that when I ordered a tea yesterday the staff member scribbled on the bit of paper (like they do in starbucks) and passed it to her co-worker by the milk frothing machine that is no where near the hot water and teabags machine, so I said quickly that that was the wrong sort and I wanted the other one, to which I was told that to get access to a tea bag and hot water I shouldn’t ask for a chi tea, but I should just ask for a tea, and then wait to be asked what sort of tea bag I would like.
It’s like inputting commands into a computer – that’s what she wanted as her preferred system of ordering.
I told her I’d remember to do so in future and I have no intention of returning.
So The Routine is broken, but I cleaned up my desk and have been getting on with it with my own tea quite nicely.
The Routine was basically to go to starbucks in the morning, drink Chai tea and write. It was going well, and without going out on the second morning of writing the book may well of stalled stock still. So thank you, Starbucks, I appreciate your ability to create enough different noises so that no one noise dominates and becomes distracting. Yesterday, however, I was told that I was ordering my tea wrong. There are two types of chai tea you can get in starbucks; a hot water and tea bag affair that is spiced and very slightly bitter. The other is a chai latte, that is about 20% froth and 70% milk. The spiced taste is faint, like it is being remembered rather than experienced and instead of being slightly bitter it is sweet, like a kitten’s vomit.
I’d been given the latter latte once before and after trying to drink it for a few minuets I went back and asked for a normal one, which they did very politely and it was fine. I don’t mind that, it was ok.
The problem I have was that when I ordered a tea yesterday the staff member scribbled on the bit of paper (like they do in starbucks) and passed it to her co-worker by the milk frothing machine that is no where near the hot water and teabags machine, so I said quickly that that was the wrong sort and I wanted the other one, to which I was told that to get access to a tea bag and hot water I shouldn’t ask for a chi tea, but I should just ask for a tea, and then wait to be asked what sort of tea bag I would like.
It’s like inputting commands into a computer – that’s what she wanted as her preferred system of ordering.
I told her I’d remember to do so in future and I have no intention of returning.
So The Routine is broken, but I cleaned up my desk and have been getting on with it with my own tea quite nicely.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Machine's Poems
Here are my binary poems for Dan.
They were originally be part of the first thing I wrote since deciding I wanted to be a writer. I had no idea what I was doing, but these are a nice thing to get out of it. I suspect most writers' first attempts don't even yield this much.
Machine's Poems
English:
When atoms of our world do collide,
and pools of chemicals start to divide.
There is the secret answer you cannot find,
of what is love and energy combined.
Binary:
01010111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101100 00001101 00001010 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110000 01101111 01101111 01101100 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100101 01101101 01101001 01100011 01100001 01101100 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100011 01110010 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01110011 01110111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101001 01101110 01100100 00101100 00001101 00001010 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100111 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00101110
English:
The lamb's lion you profess to know
held none of the qualities you will ever show.
Your emptiness is as bleak as text
with no passion from one word to the next.
Binary:
01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101101 01100010 00100111 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00001101 00001010 01101000 01100101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110111 00101110 00001101 00001010 01011001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100101 01101101 01110000 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01101100 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01100101 01111000 01110100 00001101 00001010 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00101110
They were originally be part of the first thing I wrote since deciding I wanted to be a writer. I had no idea what I was doing, but these are a nice thing to get out of it. I suspect most writers' first attempts don't even yield this much.
Machine's Poems
English:
When atoms of our world do collide,
and pools of chemicals start to divide.
There is the secret answer you cannot find,
of what is love and energy combined.
Binary:
01010111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101100 00001101 00001010 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110000 01101111 01101111 01101100 01110011 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01100011 01101000 01100101 01101101 01101001 01100011 01100001 01101100 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01100101 00101110 00001101 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100011 01110010 01100101 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01110011 01110111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01101001 01101110 01100100 00101100 00001101 00001010 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100101 01110010 01100111 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00101110
English:
The lamb's lion you profess to know
held none of the qualities you will ever show.
Your emptiness is as bleak as text
with no passion from one word to the next.
Binary:
01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101101 01100010 00100111 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00001101 00001010 01101000 01100101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110111 00101110 00001101 00001010 01011001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100101 01101101 01110000 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01101100 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01100101 01111000 01110100 00001101 00001010 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00101110
Summer is funner...?
My summer project is going well enough to talk about now. If I don’t complete it I’ll have at least learned something over the last few days, and any catastrophic failure will, I hope, also teach me something. But so far it’s all going well. I’ve started a book that at the moment seems like it’s written for young adults. It’s about listening and explaining, and about changes that are happening and about children in these changes. I don’t want to say too much about it, but I’ve got a note pad that’s fairly sturdy and I’m about half way through the first chapter.
The real reason I’m writing the first draft of a book is that I don’t feel completely comfortable doing it. I considered writing a group of connected short stories over the summer, because it would be nice to complete something like that, but I also know that I can finish a project like that. I don’t know how far I can get writing a novel, and that’s a good reason to try.
The real reason I’m writing the first draft of a book is that I don’t feel completely comfortable doing it. I considered writing a group of connected short stories over the summer, because it would be nice to complete something like that, but I also know that I can finish a project like that. I don’t know how far I can get writing a novel, and that’s a good reason to try.
Sunday 18 May 2008
It is fable 90 in Gibbs
I’m feeling a bit like my head has doubled in size over night. So I don’t think I can think very well. But then, how would you tell?
Ok, I just read that last sentence back and I’m not sure I’m making any sense so I’ll get on with this and post a story.
It was written for a reading on Mayfest, and it went very well. I think I might have read a few bits of it slightly differently than it appears here, but I can’t remember which bits.
Sophia's Story
Among the bone coloured buildings and well worn pavements of Paris, France there lived a high class prostitute named Sophia.
Sophia had a single miraculous ability; every man who saw the blackbrown mole on her whitwhite skin that sat just beneath her left nipple fell instantly in love with her. As an exclusive French courtesan this was a very fortunate power to have. It did, however, have one drawback: Any man who slept in the same bed as her without engaging in sexual intercourse would fall out of love with her just as instantaneously.
The usual course of events went thus: Sophia and her prospective client would meet; they would chat briefly and if both parties were happy then he (or she) would ask Sophia to undress. During the undressing, the client would see the mole and become utterly enthralled promptly leading to sex.
The course of events normally got stuck on here for some time, but it would inevitably lead to the client being content to merely spend the night in Sophia's arms without requiring any other physical gratification, and poof!
They would wake and ask themselves, 'What am I doing here?' And the answer would always be to get up quietly, dress themselves in their expensive clothes, plant a single kiss on the sanguine cheek of the sleeping Sophia, and leave.
It was after one such goodbye that Sophia woke from one morning and decided to take a stroll, maybe to get some breakfast in a little café that smelt of fresh coffee and poet's cigarettes.
As Sophia walked (stepping on all the cracks in the paving slabs) she came across and old Gypsy woman, fat with time and dressed all in black, selling dried flowers that had been pressed flat in old books. Beside her sat a dog that was black and shaggy and lean and beautifully all at once.
Sophia bought a flower from the old woman, and as they were exchanging money she said, 'Your dog has such bright eyes.'
The old Gypsy woman laughed at this and said, 'he's not mine, he belong only to himself, and guards me because we have a legal contract.'
'I don't understand,' said Sophia, 'how can a dog understand a contract?'
'He understands because he is blessed with the mind of a man, but is cursed the body of a dog, and so is unable to either laugh or cry.'
'That's terrible' said Sophia, sadly.
'It's not so bad, he uses his mind to dispense advice to strangers.'
At that the dog began to nuzzle at the old woman's hip, and she bent down (with some difficulty) and the dog nuzzled further at her ear.
After she had straightened up she said, 'Aesop wants you to hear a story. He says “there was once a deer who fell sick, and all the deer's friends came to visit her in her pasture. To pass the time, the deer's friends ate the grass in the pasture as they chatted amongst themselves. When the deer finally got well again, she found that her pasture had been eaten bare, and that winter she starved to death.”'
Sophia though about this story for a little while, and then said, 'I think I understand.'
And with that, she left to find a man who wouldn't love her.
Ok, I just read that last sentence back and I’m not sure I’m making any sense so I’ll get on with this and post a story.
It was written for a reading on Mayfest, and it went very well. I think I might have read a few bits of it slightly differently than it appears here, but I can’t remember which bits.
Sophia's Story
Among the bone coloured buildings and well worn pavements of Paris, France there lived a high class prostitute named Sophia.
Sophia had a single miraculous ability; every man who saw the blackbrown mole on her whitwhite skin that sat just beneath her left nipple fell instantly in love with her. As an exclusive French courtesan this was a very fortunate power to have. It did, however, have one drawback: Any man who slept in the same bed as her without engaging in sexual intercourse would fall out of love with her just as instantaneously.
The usual course of events went thus: Sophia and her prospective client would meet; they would chat briefly and if both parties were happy then he (or she) would ask Sophia to undress. During the undressing, the client would see the mole and become utterly enthralled promptly leading to sex.
The course of events normally got stuck on here for some time, but it would inevitably lead to the client being content to merely spend the night in Sophia's arms without requiring any other physical gratification, and poof!
They would wake and ask themselves, 'What am I doing here?' And the answer would always be to get up quietly, dress themselves in their expensive clothes, plant a single kiss on the sanguine cheek of the sleeping Sophia, and leave.
It was after one such goodbye that Sophia woke from one morning and decided to take a stroll, maybe to get some breakfast in a little café that smelt of fresh coffee and poet's cigarettes.
As Sophia walked (stepping on all the cracks in the paving slabs) she came across and old Gypsy woman, fat with time and dressed all in black, selling dried flowers that had been pressed flat in old books. Beside her sat a dog that was black and shaggy and lean and beautifully all at once.
Sophia bought a flower from the old woman, and as they were exchanging money she said, 'Your dog has such bright eyes.'
The old Gypsy woman laughed at this and said, 'he's not mine, he belong only to himself, and guards me because we have a legal contract.'
'I don't understand,' said Sophia, 'how can a dog understand a contract?'
'He understands because he is blessed with the mind of a man, but is cursed the body of a dog, and so is unable to either laugh or cry.'
'That's terrible' said Sophia, sadly.
'It's not so bad, he uses his mind to dispense advice to strangers.'
At that the dog began to nuzzle at the old woman's hip, and she bent down (with some difficulty) and the dog nuzzled further at her ear.
After she had straightened up she said, 'Aesop wants you to hear a story. He says “there was once a deer who fell sick, and all the deer's friends came to visit her in her pasture. To pass the time, the deer's friends ate the grass in the pasture as they chatted amongst themselves. When the deer finally got well again, she found that her pasture had been eaten bare, and that winter she starved to death.”'
Sophia though about this story for a little while, and then said, 'I think I understand.'
And with that, she left to find a man who wouldn't love her.
Friday 16 May 2008
Horror
Here is a very short story that made me feel a little sick.
I've never made myself feel ill with something I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.
---------
9 Volt Battery
My Girlfriend has no face and no name; her arms end in stumps.
My Girlfriend hides behind the doors of rooms in other people’s houses.
My Girlfriend smells of ash and vinegar.
When my Girlfriend and I fight, and I say awful things to her that make her cry, the tears swell up in bubbles under her pinkish grey skin that spread across her body.
After we have made up, I take a hat pin that was left to me by my grandmother, and prick the pustules, one by one. Then I go to each in the order that I lanced them, and suck out the dirty water. It always salty and sharp, like licking a 9 volt battery, which, if you have never tried, is like sucking the weeping sores in your Girlfriend’s back, while she moans deep and soft, in a way I take to mean, “I love you.”
I've never made myself feel ill with something I've written, so I hope you enjoy it.
---------
9 Volt Battery
My Girlfriend has no face and no name; her arms end in stumps.
My Girlfriend hides behind the doors of rooms in other people’s houses.
My Girlfriend smells of ash and vinegar.
When my Girlfriend and I fight, and I say awful things to her that make her cry, the tears swell up in bubbles under her pinkish grey skin that spread across her body.
After we have made up, I take a hat pin that was left to me by my grandmother, and prick the pustules, one by one. Then I go to each in the order that I lanced them, and suck out the dirty water. It always salty and sharp, like licking a 9 volt battery, which, if you have never tried, is like sucking the weeping sores in your Girlfriend’s back, while she moans deep and soft, in a way I take to mean, “I love you.”
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