Monday, November 24, 2003
I spent most of yesterday desperately seeking an idea. No, not just any idea. I spent the day seeking The Idea. The one that's just right for this novella. The one that I'm ready to write Now.
I think I might have found it. A science fiction story. More and more, I'm leaning that direction. I thought I might do something different this time and actually discuss the story as I write it. That is, discuss the plot and the characters and so forth. But that would seem to defeat the purpose, so I doubt I shall.
Here in Atlanta, it's rainy and cold. Which, for now, is at least better than it being sunny and cold. I hate late autumn and winter skies. They give me the creeps. The light's wrong. The shadows are wrong. The shades of blue are wrong. The quality of the sunlight itself is wrong. Wrong in the Lovecraftian sense. Not right. Oppressive. Threatful. Better the sky keep itself decently hidden behind clouds and rain and mist. Of course, that means the cryosphere is even more active. I wish I could travel back to last year and kick myself in the head for thinking an office with a cement floor would be a good idea.
I think maybe it's time to go back to the absinthe.
Yesterday, Spooky dropped by Wax'N'Facts in L5P and picked up the self-titled Woven Hand cd (a Sixteen Horsepower side project). She was looking for Current 93's Bright Yellow Sun, but didn't find it. She did pick up a copy of the Bruderschaft disc for me (thank you, Spooky). I did a tiny bit of work on Nebari.Net yesterday, after all that heavy-duty "imagineering" (It's twisted, but I love that word.). Jennifer updated the "news" page on my website and continued proofreading Murder of Angels. After dinner (one of my almost-too-spicy-to-eat stir fries), I spent far too much time watching the all-day Looney Toons marathon on Boomerang. Then more PlayStation. And, again, I thought hard about Tolstoy. Sinning with a good heart.
So, today I need to write a thousand words. If I do that every day for the next four weeks, I can finish this novella by Christmas. I also need to get through a couple more scenes on the Threshold screenplay, because I have a meeting right after Thanksgiving and I haven't even touched the thing since August, I think. I'm trying to get excited about it again. After the Hollywood flap that surrounded that poor book back in February 2002, it's hard to place "Threshold" and "movie" in the same thought. That ridiculous month when Dreamworks and Scott Free were interested, when Ben Stiller (?) and Julia Roberts' "people" were asking for copies. Someday, I'll write an essay about the insanity of that month and how it led to me writing this screenplay that I keep putting off (because, kiddos, Procrastination may be a symptom of fear).
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