More bits and pieces.
Feb. 9th, 2001 04:05 pmI put a sticky with a list of things to write about in my journal on my monitor, and I will get to them eventually, but I'm not interested in serious, intellectual thought at the moment, so more story bits and pieces.
I think I have metal on the brain, because I've written down a couple of phrases recently, and I don't know what to do with them: "the bright glint of gold in a black and white photograph" and "the unmistakable clink of an aluminum can." The first was inspired by the February picture on the Metallica calendar and the second by someone in my math class dropping an (empty) aluminum can. I've also written down the word "limning." "Limn," according to Microsoft Bookshelf means "1. To describe. 2. To depict by painting or drawing," which is odd because I always thought that to limn was to outline in lighter colors when painting.
Cliff keeps wanting to talk to me, but he's not telling me a whole lot, just: "I'm dead, but not gone, invisible, but I can see. I watch them. I watch Kirk fuck and be fucked, Lars and other men. I watch Lars bury himself in work. I watch James drink and drink and drink until he passes out only to be woken by nightmares. I want so much to comfort him, to come when he calls out for me, but I'm only a ghost. I can't do it. I watch Kirk or Lars or both of them come in and talk to him, soothe him back into sleep with promises that they won't leave. I watch the poor kid they chose as a bassist try to survive their combined efforts to make him miserable." If he wants a story, he'll have to say more than that.
I'm greatly enjoying writing the Outsiders series with Nette. It sort of turned into a series on its own. When she wrote thirteen year old James' thoughts about Kirk and Lars, "They were always off in their own world, speaking in code and laughing at their private jokes, and James liked that, but he wanted to be a part of it, too. He couldn't do it with them--not just yet, since they were too wrapped up in each other right now," I suddenly saw thirteen year old Lars skidding into the library looking for thirteen year old Kirk to invite him to sleep over, and I had to write it. Luckily, Nette didn't mind, and now she's working on the fifth story, and I know what's going to happen in the sixth. There is one side effect, though: I'm desperately craving Red Vines, and Twizzlers just aren't a good substitute, not even the fun pull-n-peel kind.
I think I have metal on the brain, because I've written down a couple of phrases recently, and I don't know what to do with them: "the bright glint of gold in a black and white photograph" and "the unmistakable clink of an aluminum can." The first was inspired by the February picture on the Metallica calendar and the second by someone in my math class dropping an (empty) aluminum can. I've also written down the word "limning." "Limn," according to Microsoft Bookshelf means "1. To describe. 2. To depict by painting or drawing," which is odd because I always thought that to limn was to outline in lighter colors when painting.
Cliff keeps wanting to talk to me, but he's not telling me a whole lot, just: "I'm dead, but not gone, invisible, but I can see. I watch them. I watch Kirk fuck and be fucked, Lars and other men. I watch Lars bury himself in work. I watch James drink and drink and drink until he passes out only to be woken by nightmares. I want so much to comfort him, to come when he calls out for me, but I'm only a ghost. I can't do it. I watch Kirk or Lars or both of them come in and talk to him, soothe him back into sleep with promises that they won't leave. I watch the poor kid they chose as a bassist try to survive their combined efforts to make him miserable." If he wants a story, he'll have to say more than that.
I'm greatly enjoying writing the Outsiders series with Nette. It sort of turned into a series on its own. When she wrote thirteen year old James' thoughts about Kirk and Lars, "They were always off in their own world, speaking in code and laughing at their private jokes, and James liked that, but he wanted to be a part of it, too. He couldn't do it with them--not just yet, since they were too wrapped up in each other right now," I suddenly saw thirteen year old Lars skidding into the library looking for thirteen year old Kirk to invite him to sleep over, and I had to write it. Luckily, Nette didn't mind, and now she's working on the fifth story, and I know what's going to happen in the sixth. There is one side effect, though: I'm desperately craving Red Vines, and Twizzlers just aren't a good substitute, not even the fun pull-n-peel kind.