Sunday, March 04, 2007

Sunday Night Random

My eyes are tired.

My hands are gritty from playing in mud and dirt all day. I took a shower so they are clean. But they are rough. Handling seventy-pound blocks, and shovels and rakes, and hauling heavy rain-damp dirt around. A few days wasting away at the docking station at work will soften them up again.

I read The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick. It's very good. But the ending is ambiguous. I don't usually like ambiguous endings because I don't understand them. I think they are very fashionable. An ambiguous ending is a way for an author to appear more clever than his audience. Of course, in this case, he is.

I have a novel inside that won't die. So I must write it. But when I try, I cannot. I have many ideas as to why this might be and therefore ideas on what to do about it. None of them will happen overnight. Some of them have taken years to not happen.

After the audition yesterday we went to lunch at Fannie Annie's in Old Town. Annie's has been there forever, a fun place with a bar and kitchen on the first floor, and you have to find yourself a table somewhere on the second or third. I think there's also a bar in the basement. All the walls and ceilings are covered with pictures, ancient newspapers, musical instruments, shoes, sports equipment. From our table an entire four-person horse-drawn buggy could be seen hanging over the stairs. I wondered why someone had written "Rudy V" on a framed picture of President McKinley.

It was a beautiful warm sunny day and the bikers were everywhere. Bikers aren't what they used to be. They wear leather vests and all, but have extraordinarily expensive motorcycles and all work for professional wages either as systems analysts for the State or software engineers at local corporations. Just another club to join. But they feel tough and stand around looking confident. I enjoy pushing through them when they block a narrow passage. One small heart challenges another. Always, politeness.

A dye in my wife's new tattoo raised an allergy and an infection and it hurts a lot and we don't know how it'll look once it has gotten better and the swelling gone down and the skin returned to normal. I am not satisfied with my own ink, but corrections / additions have not yet become clear.

15 comments:

Anonymous said...

I realize you didn't ask, but my guess re: the stuck novel would be something I call "outcome attachment."

AJ said...

A dye in my wife's new tattoo... and it hurts a lot...not satisfied with my...

Okay, that just put paid to my own wavery indecision.

Don said...

"Outcome attachment" I have to guess would be an attachment to a given outcome, and for fear of not attaining that outcome, I can't start. That's not it. The only outcome I am attached to is having tried to write it. I believe my main problem is of writing in general, outside this stream of consciousness social blogging stuff: These days I can't quiet my mind enough to allow my imagination any room. I can imagine plots and characters like nobody's business -- the system-level engineering, so to speak -- but the actual implementation requires an inner quiet that, at this time in my life, eludes me.

Don said...

my own wavery indecision

Pain is temporary. Like childbirth. But less pain than that.

Anonymous said...

Bikers should not be feared. You just have to understand the code. Of course, it changes minute by minute and is subject to frequent drunken modification and spurious whim, but, rule of thumb, never say, "Panheads su-uuuck," or "is that real leather, or vinyl?" because, even though the guy is, by day, an accountant, he will still be required, by the code, to pour beer on your loafers and ask if they are real leather.

Roy

Paula said...

I'm sure I'd be allergic to some dye - that's the kind of thing ALWAYS happens to me. I can't go in hot tubs anymore, forex. My skin gets totally messed up from some chemical in there, dunno what, and I'm NOT going to experiment to find out! Hope Mrs. Hip feels better soon.

Anonymous said...

I think you're afraid the write the novel. I think you're chicken.

I don't understand it, since I know you can stand on two little sticks behind a speeding boat, and push past bikers.

bk awk

Roy
Of course I mean this in the nicest way.

Harry said...

Start the novel, Brudda'. All you need is some whisky, the Book of Revelations, and a couple of weekends in the trailer. It will flow like the lava from Pele's womb!

Never give up the ship!

Cap'n Harry

Anonymous said...

bk awk

That's it! I mean - I always wondered how one spelled the sound(s) that a chicken made...

Anonymous said...

I think an ambiguous ending is a sign of a lazy writer.

It sounds to me like you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself with this quiet mind thing. Your mind will never ever be quiet when you sit down. Writing is what makes it quiet, eventually.

My mind is loud as hell, which is why it takes me six drafts to write anything. Write one word. Then another. They will suck, but don't worry about that, and whatever you do, do not delete them. Write a third instead. Keep going. Eventually you'll be shocked to look up and find you've been sitting there for an hour and written a thousand words. 998 of these will make no sense when put next to one another. Ignore this. Write a thousand more. Later, when you've reached the end, you will find the emerging patterns, and one little sentence someplace on page 63 that will become/transform your entire plot, but that's later, it's not important now. You've got a hell of a seal, and it's going to be hard to break, but there's only one way to do it. Write. It. Down.

Anonymous said...

All you need is some whisky, the Book of Revelations, and a couple of weekends in the trailer.

LOL

Roy

Don said...

Thanks, Jen. I think I also need a quiet place, but as Harry points out and I had somehow forgotten, I've got this unused camping trailer next the house. I just need to announce I'll be out there and if you want me, use the cell phone. That, a glass of single-malt, somafm blasting away, the night chill of March through the open window, and our chickens running round free just outside, going bk awk, bk awk! as they laugh at my pathetic attempts, mindless of their failure to go even so far. In fact, last time any of them tried to get creative, they totally laid an egg.

Anonymous said...

An egg is a chicken product. You are a human being.

"I am not a chicken! I am a ma-aaaaaaannnnnnn!!!!!!!"
-Richard Harris

"Soylent Green tastes like chicke-eeeeeennnnnnn!!!!!"
-Charlton Heston

Roy

Anonymous said...

How about some pics of your ink...

asha said...

"Some of them have taken years to not happen."

Yes.