Rage Coalescence: "Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open." -- Natalie Goldberg
Yes, Sarah, Liv, and Bas, I *did* have one of those dreams where something fannishly cool happened and I immediately signed on to tell people about it... in another dream. *snerk* I chatted with Dawn Sharon about the dream... in which Clark and Lex were e-mailing each other (Lex had been banished to Metropolis), and Clark was bitching about how Lex was always so cynical, and so insisted that Lex find something nice to say about *something*, even the weather, in every note. It eventually became an epistolary romance. Dawww. More on that later.
So I was illustrating the chat about the dream with pics of Clark and Lex to Dawn Sharon in IM, except they kept changing to the befucked things I make when I'm feeling creative and disturbing and that wasn't the mood I wanted at all. DS being DS, she kept coming up with flattering things about how "no, no, the colors shifts match the mood blah blah, you're a genius, really, geranium effect..." *snerk* I miss Dawn Sharon.
Dream shift and I'm in Dawn Sharon and Misha's new biodome. (the hell? Hey, it was cool.) We're hanging out, flirting, playing with the babies, except Naomi and Brian have morphed into one Uberbaby of Maximum Cuteness. Also? Their cats have gotten huge and semi-feral. But not in a scary way. We discuss the war, and new sonic bombs that turn the brain to mush, and the possibility of a Great Catholic Conspiracy based on centuries of resentment over the end of imperialism. Er... it all made sense at the time. I'm also reading a long, indignant article in the Sunday NYT about how a great male ballet dancer could never be trusted again because he'd edited the balletic epic he'd wrote, produced, directed, and starred in down to six hours.
As opposed to six days.
He was really very pretty. Looked a lot like Artfag the Magnificent. Er... the guy that played Harry Osborn.
And then there was sex.
And swimming.
Also? LaT apparently has a career in hip hop, should that attorney thing not work out. It was an open secret among us slashers In The Know that she'd been writing rap songs for some years now, honing her skillz, as it were. Blinging for the Lord. Wait, no, that's Lance.
And now, for all of you who suffered through this trip through my head...
Clark,
Insert the usual pleasantries here. Or don't. I'm tired. I met a priest a couple of weeks ago. It proved... enlightening.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out what made the man so compelling. He wasn't particularly handsome, and I had no business with him. He was intelligent enough in his own way, but theology has never been an area of particular interest to me. I watched him perform the Mass, I watched him at his charitable works, and there was no... do you know that feeling? When the answer comes, that is. There's quiet there. Satisfaction directly commensurate with the scope of the problem.
And it *was* a problem. My work began to suffer for this little obsession, Clark. It *grated* at me. You have no idea...
Or perhaps you do. (smile)
I stalked the poor man for about a week, then set out to seduce him. Don't look at me like that, I wanted to figure out... I had to know what made him so *fascinating*. In any case. It wasn't particularly difficult, and I daresay we both had a good time, and I sent the poor bastard off to confess.
And considered going off to do the same.
Because it was the *eyes*, Clark.
They were just like yours. Full of the weight of the world, and all its responsibilities... You know, the priest had an excuse. I'm reasonably sure he's never been crucified. You, on the other hand....
Well.
I'm looking outside, and Metropolis is... itself. The air reeks, but the penthouse gardens are wonderful. Jacarandas in bloom, I'm assured. No, I don't know what they are, either. I think they're the ones that smell like sex.
So much that she hasn't even *watched* SV yet, because she wants to ride the Buffy wave as long as possible. To that end: Is. My first Buffy story in... a really long time. Warning, spoils a *lot* of stuff for the finale, and lots of stuff before the finale, too. Don't blame Shrift for the formatting issues -- it's all my bad. Because I am a fuckup on Nyquil.
... in her pants, if the Buffy finale is even *half* as good as I'm hoping, but that's a story for another day. Victoria elaborates on earlier rants on tense and style, disagreeing at length with Jenn. Well... I agree with Jenn. *g*
I'll try to keep it brief.
Present tense? All about the immediacy. For both Te-as-writer *and* Te-as-reader, with the usual disclaimer that the author has to know what he or she is doing. It doesn't matter if we're talking about a short story, a novel, a song, a poem, or whatever. A skillful artist can use present tense to pump up the action to heart-pounding levels in ways that even a truly brilliant author can't with past tense.
Reading over Victoria's essay-rant, I realize this is subjective... but I refuse to call the idea an out and out fallacy. If it works for some people, then it automatically gains the (albeit dubious) mantle of subjectivity, yes?
That said... it's an ongoing personal challenge of mine. "Okay, can this story be written in past tense, Te? If so, don't you think you should try?" Because, well, present tense has gotten to be very, very easy for me. I'm not sure when this happened -- probably when I started writing more stories where stuff was happening right then and there or five minutes from now as opposed to yesterday or five years ago -- but, well, it *did* happen, and it's annoying on a very personal level. It offends my very large, fragile ego. I want to be able to write everything, and I want to be able to write everything really well.
Yes, Spike, I *am* still dwelling on that doggerel comment. *snerk*
So... don't be shocked when you see past-tense stories from me. Do feel free to offer me tips on how to make writing them *easier*. Argh.
Victoria: But don't you also find that reading story after story in the same style and tense and POV gets to be boring and repetitive, and they all start to flow into one long story?
Well... no. Frankly? I don't really notice that sort of thing unless it's done really poorly -- at which point I delete -- or really well, in which case I'm probably paying far more attention to what's going on in the story. The characterizations, the plot, etc. Language and style comes a distant second, with notable exceptions for certain writers who are simply *artists* with that sort of thing. Tense and POV? Dude, I'm reading a story, not looking to buy a house and checking the joists. Unless it's truly craptacular work, *I* can't see it. It melts into everything else for me.
As for the idea that Smallville is developing a sort of fannish voice when it comes to its fiction... yes, and? This happens in *every* fandom. People are never as original as we want them to be. Certain themes and styles repeat themselves ad nauseam -- it's just harder to see if you're in the thick of it. However, there will always be people who think outside the box. Newbies will come who have no idea what the 'rules' are and wouldn't care if they did. Also? No one ever writes enough of the kind of fiction *you* want. There should be a plaque for that. Or a tattoo. So you know what? We write it ourselves, or make friends who'll do their best to do it for us -- with the understanding that we'll return the favor one day.
I'm with Jenn on the second person thing. Yeah, it's *hugely* difficult to pull off -- I can only think of one story where I think I managed it, and I'm honestly afraid to look at it again to see -- but it's just a tool, like any other. Not everyone can use a bandsaw (or a food processor ;-)) without chopping their fingers off. Does that mean bandsaws are inherently evil? Fuck, no. It just means that time and effort need to be put in to learning how to use it properly. Is it often gimmicky and annoying? Fuck yes. But in the right hands? Beautiful art can be produced.
So... yeah. Enough of that. Buffy's on in mere *minutes*. EEEEEE! EEEEE! EEEEEE!
People are dieting all around. I'd worry... I usually do when this happens (I like my women fat and happy), but I recognize the cyclic nature of these urges. The swimsuit catalogs have all arrived, the first flush of summer has hit the northern hemisphere, high fashion is urging all you White chicks to look more like Britney, yeah, yeah, I know.
::pets you::
Eventually, cooler heads will prevail. For now, enjoy your rabbit food, try to remember to at least be *healthy* in your diet choices (if you're going to crash? Pick up something like Ensure. Only 250 calories and chock full of vitamin-y goodness. Also, I like the taste. I had to 'eat' it for a while when I couldn't digest anything else), and I'll be here when you remember that you're gorgeous just the way you are, for to kiss the rounds of your bellies, the eye-popping swells of your thighs, and your adorable dimpled knees.
::Te goes to her happy place.::
::Te abruptly leaves her happy place.::
When I find out who's been harassing my girlfriend? Please remember that I am, first and foremost, a writer.
That means I'm creative.
That also means I'm more than capable of seeing you as just another character in a story, should I wish to do so.
You guys are great. You really are. You cheer me when I rant, you make me question things when I proselytize, you explain my fiction when I have *no* idea what I was trying to say, and you pet me when I whine. So.
Spirituality. Religion. It's been kind of an exhausting couple of days. Healings, exorcisms or sorts -- secular and otherwise...
Tangent: And you haven't lived until you go back and forth between AIM discussions on the proper methods of ridding one's soul of parasitic entities/demons (I'm still not comfortable with the linguistics of this stuff, so much of it will come off Judaeo-Christian, despite my own troubles with that particular belief system) and SSRIs you have loved.
Oh, I can tell right now that this isn't going to make much sense. It's all such a *tangle*.
Spirits, witchcraft, the Unseen World, whatever you want to call it... it's always been a part of my life. Superstitions and fables told half-jokingly, or not *even* half-jokingly. Tales of baby!Te talking happily to empty space, older Te talking to the ghost of the woman who lived in this house before we did. Certain things were just *believed*. I flirted with atheism very briefly as a teenager -- more as rebellion than anything else -- but it just plain didn't take.
My parents kept us out of organized religion, but made sure we all had Bibles. I took it one step (or two, or three) further -- theology has always been a little hobby of mine.
Prayer has always been... wow. Prayer has always been something *this* close to the kind of witchcraft they show in movies. Te in the building storm (no, not skyclad, we don't have *that* private a backyard), arms raised to the sky, head back, opening, opening, emptying... becoming...
The power. God, the *power*...
Addictive, that. And scary. I've never prayed very often. I knew I was connecting, or trying to connect... weirdness.
Years pass. I get a voice in my head. Could be God, could be my very first manic episode. Would God sound like Drusilla? Only the shadow knows... The message was simple: You're on the right path, don't fuck it up.
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing. Sue me. My sister-in-law puts me in touch with a kind of psychic, weird in itself, because my sister-in-law is pretty much Miss Non-Believer 2002. The psychic... let's just say the guy knew way too much about me, over the phone, with me saying *nothing* (hey, I know how these grifts go) for me to disbelieve. Among other things, he spoke of past lives, rather compelling reasons that I had issues with my gender (heh. heh heh.), and... he knew I'd had an epiphany.
::Te takes a moment to wait for y'all to sigh over the beauty that was S2 Angel::
All about how to live in the world, and prosper, and be happy, and this time no one would have to be nailed to anything at all!
::Te takes a moment to wait for Douglas Adams' lawyers to catch up with her::
"Well, then," he says, "don't you think it's time to spread it around?" And you know, this all jumbled together, and I went to my friends and I told them all about it and... erk. I understand now that I probably sounded off my nut. You know, more so than now. The individual who told me I ought to commit myself didn't mean it that way. Okay... okay. I can deal with that. We've been attempting to hash it out, but it's tough. Loaded language all around, and buried issues like landmines on both sides. *sigh*
It has meant that I've spent most of the past year not talking about this stuff, not thinking about, not *doing* anything about it... which is bad, as bad as not doing anything about a psychological issue can be, I think. It all builds up.
There is... *stuff* going on out there, among the unseen. I am and I am not prepared. Do I believe in past lives? Oh, hell yes. Now I just have to remember a few more of them, so I can figure out how to *deal* with some of this stuff. A lot of it is this close to instinctual, powerful, sexual, violent... shadows and lust and *rage*. There's a lot of me hidden from myself, locked away. A Te sanitized for... whose protection?
I don't know, I don't know.
It's all coming out in a rush now, is all. Plus, I've got shit to *do*. In the plain old material world. I am a material girl, you know. Really. And this spiritual stuff can take it out of you. Or maybe that's just my cold. Yes, I am *still* mucous girl. Though the Nyquil helped. In the way that a brick to the head helps. *snerk*
It's all very strange... two weeks ago my memories were so much emptier than they are right now. It's reminding me a little of my favorite character from the _Wheel of Time_ (shaddup, you) books. Matrim Cauthon loses huge chunks of his childhood memories thanks to a spiritually poisoned dagger, and makes a foolishly worded bargain with a kind of fae people asking for the holes to be filled. He gets his wish -- but the holes are filled with chunks of his past lives, instead of the present. Which, you know, is convenient for when he needs to know how to speak the Old Tongue and how to be a general par excellence, but is really kind of a bitch for things like, oh, say, remembering countless *deaths*.
Heh.
Next projects: Find the humor, don't scare away girlfriend, try to figure out how to sound a *bit* less like the flaky pastry I am.