June 8th, 2004

giles mack daddy

Going nowhere fast

Today I wish I was a rock star.

This is not terribly different from most other days, as what girl doesn't want to put on a pair of leather pants, a black tank top and heavy dark eyeliner, and hit the stage? Who doesn't want to knock back hard drinks, get into fights, and hold a crowd in the palm of her hand? Who doesn't want to look over and see her buddy, the bassist, just chillin' to their left?

I know. I know.

But today my desire to be a rock star is even higher than usual. This may be because I am at my intensely *least* rock starrish today: I'm wearing a pair of fuzzy white slippers as I curl up and watch the rain. It's our first big thunderstorm, and have I mentioned how much I *love* thunderstorms?

There's something to be said for the dewy fog that was happening a lot in NY around late April -- it made everything look greener, feel more like it was bursting into being. It was more about sex, but this? Thunderstorms? Man, if that ain't about passion, I don't know what is. And every romance novel and cheesy cliche made in print or in a movie will bear me out on that.

I'm in love with Camille Paglia and Wendy Doniger. Why?

1. Splitting the Difference: Gender and Myth in Ancient Greece and India by Wendy Doniger -- If you were at all interested in my post about dualism in Smallville then this might be something you might want to look into. She takes apart different strains of a dozen different myths which occur in both society, and she does it readably. She's got a nice turn of phrase, and a sense of humor, and a keen keen insight. I really recommend this book very, very highly.

2. Sex, Art and American Culture by Camille Paglia -- It crackles. For, serious. This is a collection of essays that *never* hit dry or boring, I mean, this woman's kinetic style is definitely to be envied, especially in regard to her ability to make what could (potentially) be an experiment in academia read like sex.


Sometimes I forget the basics.

I get mired in things like "Why do I have to use light imagery in everything I've ever written in my entire life?" and "How can I make this read quietly?" or "Jesus, Nifra, stop molesting your comma key!" I forget the very basic tenant of writing that I've heard over and over again, which is that it's meant to be a discovery.

And then, when I find myself writing a story that I know everything about, I'm suddenly shocked and surprised to find that I can't power through it. I'm not saying that everything should be a mystery when you write -- stories need structure, and to have structure you have to have something in mind. I think I am saying, though, that if you don't have *any* mystery in the story you're writing (not even for yourself) then you lose interesting.

You can't stir yourself to write it. Because you know too much about it; there's nothing to be learned. I think lately that's been my biggest problem when writing; I've been acting like I'm writing an academic paper. I have it outlined in my head to the point of insanity.

I do best when I just sit down, and have a kind of vague idea, and just *go*. It's like being able to see the road underneath your feet, but not knowing where you're going, and it's invigorating.


I need good fiction recommendations, my darling sweet-knees. What are you reading? What's hot? What's not? Gimme a scoop on a book I absolutely have to read.

I am...shall we say...at an impasse having finished a large portion of the books I've been wanting to read, and I can seem to *make* myself read Moby Dick. And I don't even know why it seemed like a good idea at the time anymore.
  • Current Music
    40 feet - Franz Ferdinand