Me and Mr. Jones

So I haven’t been writing much at all (besides on the blog). But I have been thinking a LOT. Now of course it is easier to think about these things than to form them into words, but I don’t know if this is procrastination or if this is actually how I write. When I was working on stuff for George I was thinking about this piece for two weeks. I knew what I wanted to write but I couldn’t find the words to make it sound how I wanted. And then in about 15 minutes one night I saw down and typed three pieces, including the one I was working on. And it worked and he loved it. (it was the only one he actually liked/responded to).

So here I am telling you about how I am not working, although I am not so sure I am not working. Of course I may not meet the November 30th deadline, but in the end I am actually confronting my first real long-term project.

ps: not sure about the goats either, but I like ’em.

The other problem with writing of this novel is the need to come up with character names. The problem is that my characters already names: the names their mommies and daddies gave ’em. I feel compelled to change them because I don’t want the people I write about to know what I write about them. Or rather, I want to be able to disseminate the information as I so choose. Yes, I want to take from people’s lives what I want to and use it for my own purposes, but I don’t want them to be able to have a say. Ugh… I KNOW other people deal with these things and I wish there was a “How To” on this topic. In the meantime I have changed my character’s name (only I don’t really like it) and I am leaving others as they are but I know soon I’ll have to come up with other names to solidify this book. Also I feel like if I change their names then I will feel like I can take more liberties with their storylines. But I don’t know how to pick the right names. Everything sounds so fake. Ugh.

p.s. cough cough still… Ugh.

’nuff said.

Another breakthrough today. This morning I was thinking to myself (and probably talking to myself in the process, let’s be honest…) about my metaphorical contours. It seemed to start with musing on potential haircuts and re-wearing clothes and suddenly I felt epiphanic. The only problem now is that my revelation happened so many hours and events ago I don’t quite remember what the whole thing was about. I know that I felt that I had always been unsuccessful in trying to fit myself into some form and perhaps should be content with my formlessness. I made some connection to my potential-novel, States of Matter, where the protagonist is dealing with transformations both in physical substances and forms and mental sublimations/evaporations and the like. So I guess I thought the discussion of “Seth” could help give context to his journey but I really do not know if I was content with feeling he (and I) would in the end be more like a liquid or a gas. One is malleable and fills up a mold, and one expands to overtake whatever space it is in. Hmph… hopefully the truth will out. Either way I am quite happy with my ever-growing metaphor.

No novel news right now. Something potentially related and equally exciting to me, though:

I was just talking to George, my collaborator, about this new piece he and I are working on. This is probably the first time I have come in having some direct vision of my part. And ironically it is the first time my vision does not totally fit his needs. But in talking to him about what texts he did respond to and want to use, I had some validation as I explained my own inspiration in writing it and how I started to think about what I wrote about. It helped me to see that my own curiosities and time-wasting do potentially mean something to others, and have some interest, and that perhaps I should really take my voice seriously.

I think in order for a writer to be able to commit to writing he/she really needs to feel like it may actually work out. Or at least I do.

This morning I felt a huge need to go and buy some books. I have tried to fight this impulse over the past few months because my tendency is to go and buy lots of stuff and then bring it home and not read it. Today was different, though, because I was armed with a gift certificate from my birthday and I desperately needed some sort of mentor text to help me re-align my approach.

A brief note on the mentor text: For some reason I have always had a sympathy for mimicry. I think my early fascination with Weird Al Yankovic and my current obsession with Stephen Colbert have managed to make my mind a place where things always echo other things before they yield creative output.

So I wanted to hear some voices of other authors so that I could ride on that wave of inspiration to achieve a larger word count. Before I went to the bookstore I read a few chapters from Catcher in the Rye and The Adventure of Augie March before settling on Baldwin’s Another Country. But none of these seemed to stick, so I went out to get more.

Pacing the aisles of Barnes and Noble, listening to Glenn Gould, I spent about two hours reading titles and snippets before I settled on two books: The Counterfeiters by Andre Gide and The Philosophy of Andy Warhol by Andy Warhol. I am very interested to see how these play out in my work this weekend.

(by the by… is it a coincidence that they are both gay artists? no, not at all. this is still extremely important to me.)

So today’s harvest of words helped to realize that right now I will not be able to understand the full context of the “novel” and for now all I can do is write. Tonight’s focus was a personal account of young “Seth” and his reaction to being underwater. Perhaps the key is simply to put it all out there and let my interests solve themselves.

It is amazing how many little annoying hurdles one faces throughout the days. A week or so ago I fucked up my neck some how. It slowly stopped bothering me over the week, but today I have done something to remind it that it should hurt me. When I need to turn my head, I must also turn my torso as the two don’t work separately without their friendly neck hinge. I’ve spent the last two hours trying to hold my head still or prop it on pillows. Ugh. If it ain’t the sinuses it was bound to be something.

In other news we are about at 2500 words so far.

Elections and work and doing couple things and cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. And today Thom pointed out to me that despite Obama’s election the world is still basically the same. Except that today I am SO motivated to try and go beyond my recent limitations. I feel particularly able to help out improving this world.

My book, on the other hand, is still stagnant at a little over 1,000 words and probably only some of them keepable. Yesterday someone said, “What’s your book about?” I had no answer because I have NO idea. I’m still trying to convince myself I can switch to first person. Hmph. This isn’t the sort of creative trance I had envisioned when I created a username and password at that website.

The important thing is that I am still actively thinking about it. But when am I not thinking? Okay, I’m cutting myself a little break but I am also committing to publish my new and engorged word count here tomorrow night.

ps. GOBAMA!

pps. the world is still filled with hate.

ppps. I still feel fairly pleased with the state of things, regardless.

not much to say today. life takes over my ability to write tonight, and i don’t mind at all. i just can’t actually believe that we may actually get this done…