I know many will not believe my story; I can barely believe it myself, but it happened nonetheless. I’m not even sure where to begin telling it. She meant the world to me, still does, but when she told me she was pregnant then claimed it was God’s will so I shouldn’t be upset … and that she was still a virgin anyway – well, it was pretty hard to take. At least I thought she should be honest with me. Still, I loved her and didn’t want her to suffer for some mistake. I was going to break it off quietly, let her find a way out on her own. Then he, she or … I guess it, came.
Now I know people won’t believe this. I walk into my room and there’s this person in there and it scared the daylights out of me. Possibly because it was like daylight only human shaped; bit more freaky than an intruder and somehow more convincing when they claimed to be a messenger from God. Turned out she wasn’t lying, the pregnancy was God’s will and she was still a virgin. I was going to be the step-dad of God’s son. How was I meant to deal with that one? I was still getting my carpentry up to scratch, setting myself up in life and now I have to look after not only a baby but a divinity? Come on. Still, when a glowing celestial being appears in your bedroom and tells you that’s how it is, you don’t argue. Sure I could have argued I was now insane, but that would mean she was too and that didn’t add up. Besides, insane people don’t think they’re insane – do they?
Anyway, any doubts I might have had about my sanity or the general nature of reality got burned away that night the baby was born. She was so brave, my little love. The innkeeper’s wife kept me outside while it happened, I avoided the temptation to talk to the cattle, that would’ve been nuts but they were the only ones there. Then. After, well, it got crowded.
I’d just met my little boy, by proxy at least, when this noise erupted. The sky was rent with this singing, unlike anything I’d ever heard. The voices were so clear and resonant and – commanding. When it became as bright as day at the same time, I knew it was back and it had brought friends. A whole host of glowing beings; flying this time and worshipping the little bub in my wife’s arms … I was more worried about her to be truly honest. She was covered in sweat and looked absolutely exhausted. Utterly beautiful though, so happy, so content, so very much in love with her son. And when she looked up and smiled at me, gripped my hand – let’s just say there was a lot of love in that little huddle. Enough to make the angelic chorus outside seem almost natural.
I wasn’t as impressed when the shepherds turned up. I’d never seen so many of the uncouth vagabonds in the one place before. It stank more than the oxen; I understood then why baths were invented and never begrudged one ever after. All these rough and ready blokes, some with scars from fighting wolves of all things, all gathering round my wife and son … it’s not something you normally want to happen. But the looks on their faces – they didn’t even notice my love, or me. Just him, the divine son.
They didn’t hang around but they got very excited and promised to tell everyone they met they’d seen the Son of God. I thanked them very much, but who listens to shepherd talk anyway?
After that life just seemed to go on. We settled into a new house in Nazareth where people couldn’t do the math about wedding and son’s birthday. Some strange men turned up one year, gave us some really expensive presents – for the King of Kings of course. I asked if they’d mind changing his nappy while they were at it but they declined.
So there you have it, the birth of my first son – so to speak. Like I said, I know a lot of people won’t believe it, but that’s what happened. If you ever meet him, you won’t be so surprised. He has that way about him.
Tuesday, 25 December 2012
Thursday, 13 December 2012
NaNoWriMo Reflection
It’s been a long while since I wrote here but I’m back. The main delay was of NaNoWriMo as I worked away to write 50,000 words in November and get The Scarlet Ring really on its way. I have to say it was a fantastic experience and I’m very happy with myself for completing it successfully.
It showed me a number of things, the first and most important one being that I can apply myself to write something and if I do it will actually come along. I went into it with the first part of the story written and a rough plan as to where the middle part was going, and while it dragged at times it generally came along fairly well and developed in new ways as it did. Characters suddenly sprung into existence which meant things shifted course ever so slightly and new scenes ran their course.
I also noticed certain pitfalls I kept falling into and phrases I was clearly far too keen on using which I might not normally pick up on if writing more intermittently. Unfortunately with the looming deadline I didn’t always get to fix what I knew I was doing, but I could at least recognise they exist for when I go back for the rewrite. “Fix it in post,” was my wife’s declaration whenever I voiced a doubt about anything.
The biggest issue for the rewrites will actually be the timing of events; I have a few plot lines running and they do crossover but I have characters meeting another character on an island when they were still on a different island for another three days in their story. Bit of a physical impossibility but not a major drama believe it or not.
Another thing I noticed was, in writing with more abandon and with the aim of meeting a word count within a strict time limit, things got more fleshed out. I started to get the feeling the first part that I wrote over months beforehand was a pasty skeletal figure next to the NaNo passage. I’m quite sure some of what I wrote in November will disappear entirely by the final draft, but I think the lack of momentum in the earlier stages led to a more fragmentary narrative which may need beefing up.
Finally, and somewhat obviously, the whole process reminded me of the most essential thing – for me – about writing: how much I enjoy doing it. Sure, there were times when I was struggling and just forcing myself to keep putting words down, but even doing that brought a sense of satisfaction. And breaking through those stages to the really good bits where things flew along (notably so did the action) was a great feeling.
So, thank you Office of Light and Letters, it may seem a strange thing to some but NaNoWriMo is a wonderful initiative. I’ll see you in November.
Keep dreaming.
It showed me a number of things, the first and most important one being that I can apply myself to write something and if I do it will actually come along. I went into it with the first part of the story written and a rough plan as to where the middle part was going, and while it dragged at times it generally came along fairly well and developed in new ways as it did. Characters suddenly sprung into existence which meant things shifted course ever so slightly and new scenes ran their course.
I also noticed certain pitfalls I kept falling into and phrases I was clearly far too keen on using which I might not normally pick up on if writing more intermittently. Unfortunately with the looming deadline I didn’t always get to fix what I knew I was doing, but I could at least recognise they exist for when I go back for the rewrite. “Fix it in post,” was my wife’s declaration whenever I voiced a doubt about anything.
The biggest issue for the rewrites will actually be the timing of events; I have a few plot lines running and they do crossover but I have characters meeting another character on an island when they were still on a different island for another three days in their story. Bit of a physical impossibility but not a major drama believe it or not.
Another thing I noticed was, in writing with more abandon and with the aim of meeting a word count within a strict time limit, things got more fleshed out. I started to get the feeling the first part that I wrote over months beforehand was a pasty skeletal figure next to the NaNo passage. I’m quite sure some of what I wrote in November will disappear entirely by the final draft, but I think the lack of momentum in the earlier stages led to a more fragmentary narrative which may need beefing up.
Finally, and somewhat obviously, the whole process reminded me of the most essential thing – for me – about writing: how much I enjoy doing it. Sure, there were times when I was struggling and just forcing myself to keep putting words down, but even doing that brought a sense of satisfaction. And breaking through those stages to the really good bits where things flew along (notably so did the action) was a great feeling.
So, thank you Office of Light and Letters, it may seem a strange thing to some but NaNoWriMo is a wonderful initiative. I’ll see you in November.
Keep dreaming.
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
NaNoWriMo Eve
So tomorrow is the beginning of National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words to be written in just 30 days. It's a challenge, it should be fun and it's the kick in the pants to get things going I've been needing.
Prep is going all right. I have some plotting worked out - it's allowed - and I'm going to do a bit more shortly. Just finishing up getting my work area fairly clean so it's not distracting.
Got coffee supply and tea, might need to invest in some nuts to munch, keep the grey matter ticking. Got tunes aplenty, from classical to rock depending on my mood, and the sound system is good.
Yup, I think I'm ready. Wish me luck, and to anyone else doing it, good luck!
Keep dreaming.
Prep is going all right. I have some plotting worked out - it's allowed - and I'm going to do a bit more shortly. Just finishing up getting my work area fairly clean so it's not distracting.
Got coffee supply and tea, might need to invest in some nuts to munch, keep the grey matter ticking. Got tunes aplenty, from classical to rock depending on my mood, and the sound system is good.
Yup, I think I'm ready. Wish me luck, and to anyone else doing it, good luck!
Keep dreaming.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
Initial Response to ETA Hoffmann's The Sandman
When Delibes' ballet Coppelia featured in ABC Classic FM's Classic 100 The Music of France it reminded me that I had written a response to Hoffmann's story, on which the ballet was based, so I thought I'd share it with you now. Warning - spoilers. You can find the story here.
Hoffmann sets up the situation and the theme of the story straightaway through three letters. The first tells us of the terrible events in Nathanael’s childhood and the possible reappearance of the villain of those events in his life. The second is the rational explanation of Clara dismissing the whole Nathanael’s fears to his own mind and in the third he accepts them.
The rest of the story revolves around, to a large degree, the irrational fears he has and the rational explanations that may dispel them – if they are irrational. We read how his conviction in the mystical is so fired up, and Clara’s adamant rationality is so fixed, that he almost comes to blows with her brother. This ends with another Clara-inspired revelation that he’s just being silly.
He continues the debate in his own head when confronted with the seeming double of the old villain from his childhood. Rationality seems to win out until Nathanael looks through a ‘perspective’ at the figure of Olimpia whom he becomes obsessed with – and who appears to steal his eyes.
This irrational period during which he forgets his former life and woos Olimpia, who says nothing in return but stares at him always, is unlike his morbid fears and bears none of the similarities to the ‘dark presence’. He is bewitched.
Olimpia, to all eyes but his, is ‘too perfect’ and unnaturally stiff in her movements. Having lost his ‘perspective’ to her Nathanael only sees her as true perfection. When going to propose to her she is revealed as an automaton; the eyes of which were stolen from Nathanael by Coppola. Coppola – speaking with the voice of Coppelius, the childhood villain – steals Olimpia but throws Nathanael’s eyes back into him. After temporary madness Nathanael is once again ‘rational’ until he sees Clara through the ‘perspective’ and believes her to be an automaton too and goes mad. Coppelius watches on, possibly stealing the eyes back.
PERSPECTIVE
To me this story is about perspective. Nathanael’s perspective, for the most, is affected by the events of his childhood. He is told the story of the sandman, who steals children’s eyes – so their sight, their view on the world. When he spies his father with Coppelius they seems to be in some sort of alchemical experiment, possibly creating homunculi – all that’s needed are eyes.
Clara’s perspective is steadfast in its rationality. She suffers only a minor wavering in the description of the events but quickly returns to her disbelief in the mystical as an outside force. Her eyes are described in glowing terms – like a lake even. Her perspective then is sharp and unchanging.
Thirdly, we have Olimpia, whose eyes seem to ‘lack vision’ but are not blind. She is simply without a perspective; she sees but does not comprehend. Those eyes however draw Nathanael in through the glass ‘perspective’ of Coppola, and cause him to lose all perspective and see only her.
Only after this happens will her creator allow the public to see her. After Coppola/Coppelius steals her body, Nathanael gets his eyes returned. The rush of perspective drives him seemingly mad – but he has just realised he’s been tricked into an obsession with a ‘doll’ so his madness is not singularly surprising.
Clara’s clear, clean perspective restores his sanity, so he says. Seeing her through Coppola’s glass perspective however, he again loses his sanity and Coppelius seems to claim his ‘foine eyes’ once more. So Nathanael’s perspective is again stolen, he goes mad and dies. Coppelius disappears. Did he exist outside the mind of Nathanael? That remains unclear. He may have, Nathanael did have the glass perspective, or Clara may have been right and Coppola was a normal man Nathanael’s perspective turned into a childhood nightmare made flesh. Hoffman doesn’t say. It’s a matter of our own perspective.
If there were any moral behind this tale it would be to keep your clarity and not allow outside forces to alter your perception of the world. Clara remains true to her world view and ends up happily. Nathanael’s view changes with the wind and he dies violently.
Hoffmann sets up the situation and the theme of the story straightaway through three letters. The first tells us of the terrible events in Nathanael’s childhood and the possible reappearance of the villain of those events in his life. The second is the rational explanation of Clara dismissing the whole Nathanael’s fears to his own mind and in the third he accepts them.
The rest of the story revolves around, to a large degree, the irrational fears he has and the rational explanations that may dispel them – if they are irrational. We read how his conviction in the mystical is so fired up, and Clara’s adamant rationality is so fixed, that he almost comes to blows with her brother. This ends with another Clara-inspired revelation that he’s just being silly.
He continues the debate in his own head when confronted with the seeming double of the old villain from his childhood. Rationality seems to win out until Nathanael looks through a ‘perspective’ at the figure of Olimpia whom he becomes obsessed with – and who appears to steal his eyes.
This irrational period during which he forgets his former life and woos Olimpia, who says nothing in return but stares at him always, is unlike his morbid fears and bears none of the similarities to the ‘dark presence’. He is bewitched.
Olimpia, to all eyes but his, is ‘too perfect’ and unnaturally stiff in her movements. Having lost his ‘perspective’ to her Nathanael only sees her as true perfection. When going to propose to her she is revealed as an automaton; the eyes of which were stolen from Nathanael by Coppola. Coppola – speaking with the voice of Coppelius, the childhood villain – steals Olimpia but throws Nathanael’s eyes back into him. After temporary madness Nathanael is once again ‘rational’ until he sees Clara through the ‘perspective’ and believes her to be an automaton too and goes mad. Coppelius watches on, possibly stealing the eyes back.
PERSPECTIVE
To me this story is about perspective. Nathanael’s perspective, for the most, is affected by the events of his childhood. He is told the story of the sandman, who steals children’s eyes – so their sight, their view on the world. When he spies his father with Coppelius they seems to be in some sort of alchemical experiment, possibly creating homunculi – all that’s needed are eyes.
Clara’s perspective is steadfast in its rationality. She suffers only a minor wavering in the description of the events but quickly returns to her disbelief in the mystical as an outside force. Her eyes are described in glowing terms – like a lake even. Her perspective then is sharp and unchanging.
Thirdly, we have Olimpia, whose eyes seem to ‘lack vision’ but are not blind. She is simply without a perspective; she sees but does not comprehend. Those eyes however draw Nathanael in through the glass ‘perspective’ of Coppola, and cause him to lose all perspective and see only her.
Only after this happens will her creator allow the public to see her. After Coppola/Coppelius steals her body, Nathanael gets his eyes returned. The rush of perspective drives him seemingly mad – but he has just realised he’s been tricked into an obsession with a ‘doll’ so his madness is not singularly surprising.
Clara’s clear, clean perspective restores his sanity, so he says. Seeing her through Coppola’s glass perspective however, he again loses his sanity and Coppelius seems to claim his ‘foine eyes’ once more. So Nathanael’s perspective is again stolen, he goes mad and dies. Coppelius disappears. Did he exist outside the mind of Nathanael? That remains unclear. He may have, Nathanael did have the glass perspective, or Clara may have been right and Coppola was a normal man Nathanael’s perspective turned into a childhood nightmare made flesh. Hoffman doesn’t say. It’s a matter of our own perspective.
If there were any moral behind this tale it would be to keep your clarity and not allow outside forces to alter your perception of the world. Clara remains true to her world view and ends up happily. Nathanael’s view changes with the wind and he dies violently.
Friday, 28 September 2012
September Reading
Thought I might do a quick review of what I've been reading this month - if for no other reason than keeping it clear in my own head. I already mentioned the Elric novels so that was a big portion of it.
The other big one was Robert Chamber's The King in Yellow. I got this from the University of Adelaide ebook site as it was mentioned in terms of Weird fiction and having influenced HP Lovecraft. It was weird all right but not always in the sense of the supernatural genre.
It's a collection of short stories, the first four of which make reference to a fictional play, the eponymous King in Yellow. This play is so artistically wrought that anyone who reads it, or at least the second act, is mentally disturbed by it or downright insane. This concept Lovecraft liked and he referenced the play or the places mentioned in it a few times. He also liked some of Chamber's style at times.
The rest of the stories in the book, which make up the other two-thirds or so, have nothing to do with The King in Yellow or Weird fiction whatsoever. They are predominantly romances about naive American art students in Paris. One of them, The Street of the Four Winds, was absolutely brilliant though. It wasn't about a student but was set in Paris. It's a simple tale of a man who is kind to a stray cat and tells him something of his history. The coincidence at the story's heart will break the reader's own, at least it did mine.
I confess the concept of a play so powerful it affects people's psyches to the point of madness did rather rub the bells of synchronicity. I've been thinking about Artaud's Alchemical Theatre and the role of theatre to create a reality beyond our own mundane existence. The 'liminal' space and the greater truths of myth and story than everyday banality. Anyway, somewhere in that idea is my Masters thesis, one day.
The other things I've read, in full, are W W Jacob's The Monkey's Paw and some Lovecraft shorts. The former is a classic of the Weird too, and I believe Lovecraft thought it such as well. It works on the premise of less is more, terror over horror, suggestion over detail. And it works well. Reminiscent of a Buffy episode too, I suspect it was involved somewhere.
The Lovecraft were Pickman's Model and The Shadow Out of Time. The latter is one of his slightly longer works, a whole 76 pages in eight chapters, and is about a man possessed by a mind of a Great One from several epochs before humans evolved and consequently possessed the body of the Great One for a few years. Like In the Mountains of Madness, his longest work I think, it's less gripping than some of his shorter pieces but the atmosphere of dread slowly works a pervasive spell over you and the history of the world and the Great Ones and Elder Gods etc is quite fascinating.
Pickman's story has a more immediate effect, following in the Poe mode of first person 'I know this is unbelievable but it's what happened okay'. The plot itself is quite see-through these days but the descriptions and atmosphere are classic Lovecraft who truly knew the language of nightmare.
Keep dreaming - but not about Great Ones I hope.
The other big one was Robert Chamber's The King in Yellow. I got this from the University of Adelaide ebook site as it was mentioned in terms of Weird fiction and having influenced HP Lovecraft. It was weird all right but not always in the sense of the supernatural genre.
It's a collection of short stories, the first four of which make reference to a fictional play, the eponymous King in Yellow. This play is so artistically wrought that anyone who reads it, or at least the second act, is mentally disturbed by it or downright insane. This concept Lovecraft liked and he referenced the play or the places mentioned in it a few times. He also liked some of Chamber's style at times.
The rest of the stories in the book, which make up the other two-thirds or so, have nothing to do with The King in Yellow or Weird fiction whatsoever. They are predominantly romances about naive American art students in Paris. One of them, The Street of the Four Winds, was absolutely brilliant though. It wasn't about a student but was set in Paris. It's a simple tale of a man who is kind to a stray cat and tells him something of his history. The coincidence at the story's heart will break the reader's own, at least it did mine.
I confess the concept of a play so powerful it affects people's psyches to the point of madness did rather rub the bells of synchronicity. I've been thinking about Artaud's Alchemical Theatre and the role of theatre to create a reality beyond our own mundane existence. The 'liminal' space and the greater truths of myth and story than everyday banality. Anyway, somewhere in that idea is my Masters thesis, one day.
The other things I've read, in full, are W W Jacob's The Monkey's Paw and some Lovecraft shorts. The former is a classic of the Weird too, and I believe Lovecraft thought it such as well. It works on the premise of less is more, terror over horror, suggestion over detail. And it works well. Reminiscent of a Buffy episode too, I suspect it was involved somewhere.
The Lovecraft were Pickman's Model and The Shadow Out of Time. The latter is one of his slightly longer works, a whole 76 pages in eight chapters, and is about a man possessed by a mind of a Great One from several epochs before humans evolved and consequently possessed the body of the Great One for a few years. Like In the Mountains of Madness, his longest work I think, it's less gripping than some of his shorter pieces but the atmosphere of dread slowly works a pervasive spell over you and the history of the world and the Great Ones and Elder Gods etc is quite fascinating.
Pickman's story has a more immediate effect, following in the Poe mode of first person 'I know this is unbelievable but it's what happened okay'. The plot itself is quite see-through these days but the descriptions and atmosphere are classic Lovecraft who truly knew the language of nightmare.
Keep dreaming - but not about Great Ones I hope.
Thursday, 20 September 2012
The Eternal Ramble - A Haphazard Rave about Elric
I said in a previous post that I might write about the Elric novels I've been reading and to stop myself from debating whether I will or not I am. Many of you will already know something about them even if you've never read them but for those who don't I'll give a quick idea.
Elric is the last emperor of Melnibone, an ancient and decadent empire. He can summon aid from demons and elementals and has a sword of mystical origins which forms a love-hate symbiosis with him. All of this is part of Michael Moorcock's multiverse where Elric becomes just one facet of the Eternal Warrior.
It's epic fantasy but in episodic form. Every novel (of the first five which is all I've read so far) is divided into three and each section is its own story which was published in a slightly different version (or not) in journals. At least that's how they're designed. So the chronology occasionally jumps slightly but the stories do follow one after the other even if some events happen at different points in other characters' lives, by which I mean Corum who pops up twice but is actually also the Eternal Warrior.
With that in mind I have to say I found Elric less compelling overall than Erekose and Hawkmoon who are two other facets or forms of the Eternal Warrior and whose sagas are told in a continuous flowing story. However the shorter format provides for more variety and interest, and if one story isn't so great there's always the next one.
The format also puts Elric into the tradition of Conan, Solomon Kane and other "pulp" figures (those being Robert E Howard's most famous creations). But this is early 20th century pulp in the mid 20th century, which is to say slightly nuts. You never know when Elric is going to leave his own plane of existence, or time stream. He meets demons, crazed agents of chaos, plenty of women who he has wild sex with, and brave heroes like Rakhir the Red Archer - so named because he's an archer who wears red from head to toe, bright crimson at that.
In all I can see why Elric has such a cult following, but while I enjoyed his stories - and will read Stormbringer, the sixth volume which was the last one till there was a seventh - I'm not as fanatical. It's classic, it's fascinating but it's not world-shattering. I remain a Hawkmoon fan first and foremost; long live the Eternal Warrior ... yes that's a redundant comment, although he does die too, frequently actually.
Keep dreaming!
Elric is the last emperor of Melnibone, an ancient and decadent empire. He can summon aid from demons and elementals and has a sword of mystical origins which forms a love-hate symbiosis with him. All of this is part of Michael Moorcock's multiverse where Elric becomes just one facet of the Eternal Warrior.
It's epic fantasy but in episodic form. Every novel (of the first five which is all I've read so far) is divided into three and each section is its own story which was published in a slightly different version (or not) in journals. At least that's how they're designed. So the chronology occasionally jumps slightly but the stories do follow one after the other even if some events happen at different points in other characters' lives, by which I mean Corum who pops up twice but is actually also the Eternal Warrior.
With that in mind I have to say I found Elric less compelling overall than Erekose and Hawkmoon who are two other facets or forms of the Eternal Warrior and whose sagas are told in a continuous flowing story. However the shorter format provides for more variety and interest, and if one story isn't so great there's always the next one.
The format also puts Elric into the tradition of Conan, Solomon Kane and other "pulp" figures (those being Robert E Howard's most famous creations). But this is early 20th century pulp in the mid 20th century, which is to say slightly nuts. You never know when Elric is going to leave his own plane of existence, or time stream. He meets demons, crazed agents of chaos, plenty of women who he has wild sex with, and brave heroes like Rakhir the Red Archer - so named because he's an archer who wears red from head to toe, bright crimson at that.
In all I can see why Elric has such a cult following, but while I enjoyed his stories - and will read Stormbringer, the sixth volume which was the last one till there was a seventh - I'm not as fanatical. It's classic, it's fascinating but it's not world-shattering. I remain a Hawkmoon fan first and foremost; long live the Eternal Warrior ... yes that's a redundant comment, although he does die too, frequently actually.
Keep dreaming!
Monday, 10 September 2012
A Promethean Symphony
So I've been thinking today about my playwrighting and where it's going/hasn't been going. Aside from numerous personal factors, I think one reason so little happened for as long as it didn't, was that I can never seem to produce anything that would be deemed a full-length play. This strictly speaking shouldn't really matter - Samuel Beckett only wrote one, his first. After that his works got shorter and shorter as he tried to produce a pure theatrical image. However, outside festivals of 10-minute plays and the occasional special event of one-act wonders there's little call for shorter works.
But I've also realised I'm not interested in writing a long play. I have stories to tell and theatrical images to attempt, and my style of telling these stories is generally very quick. My longest play actually suffers from its size I think - that and it has a light and a dark side that don't mesh.
What does excite me is an idea I've tossed around in my head a few times but until now never gotten fully into. Basing my works on other structures borrowed from other mediums. I got the idea listening to classical music - well Romantic probably but that's a pedantic argument - and the prevalence of short pieces in collections. Three Sketches; Two Poems for Orchestra, etc. Why not turn a shorter piece of mine into a 'movement' of a greater work?
So comes my idea to write A Promethean Symphony. My first movement is Prometheus Rebooted, an Andante if you will as it does move along fairly slowly and isn't high on the action front. It will be followed by three more movements, I haven't figured out what, based on the general nebulous theme of Promethean/Frankenstonian lore.
I've also come up with the plan to finish part one of the first book of The Scarlet Ring by the end of this month, work on one or two movements of the symphony in October then get into NaNoWriMo before finishing both works over December/January. I should get back to Five-Fingers too ... hold that thought.
Keep dreaming!
But I've also realised I'm not interested in writing a long play. I have stories to tell and theatrical images to attempt, and my style of telling these stories is generally very quick. My longest play actually suffers from its size I think - that and it has a light and a dark side that don't mesh.
What does excite me is an idea I've tossed around in my head a few times but until now never gotten fully into. Basing my works on other structures borrowed from other mediums. I got the idea listening to classical music - well Romantic probably but that's a pedantic argument - and the prevalence of short pieces in collections. Three Sketches; Two Poems for Orchestra, etc. Why not turn a shorter piece of mine into a 'movement' of a greater work?
So comes my idea to write A Promethean Symphony. My first movement is Prometheus Rebooted, an Andante if you will as it does move along fairly slowly and isn't high on the action front. It will be followed by three more movements, I haven't figured out what, based on the general nebulous theme of Promethean/Frankenstonian lore.
I've also come up with the plan to finish part one of the first book of The Scarlet Ring by the end of this month, work on one or two movements of the symphony in October then get into NaNoWriMo before finishing both works over December/January. I should get back to Five-Fingers too ... hold that thought.
Keep dreaming!
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