I think I finally found a theme for this week’s summation. But before I commence with the antics, I’m just going to report my progress. I’m experimenting, playing around with, a rather aggressive writing schedule, as much as I can conceivably manage in a day before my mind reverts entirely to factory settings as a self-defense mechanism. I’m setting a brisk pace, getting a lot of work done, but I repeatedly crash and crash and crash. I can’t seem to determine the schedules. Sometimes I can hold out for a week, sometimes longer, without meaningful break, and other times it’s hardly three days. While I could launch into a discussion about my findings, my sense of the whole situation, this nevertheless elucidates the reality I’ve been living. It’s been difficult keeping up with anything else meaningful to me, whether that be Latin, Greek, German, god knows what else–and for god’s sake I abandoned Sanskrit years ago for the sake of career. Don’t ask me my previous aspirations for I can hardly remember them, he lied with a wicked curl upon his pursed lips. Read More …
Been a difficult week, a nevertheless productive week, speaking through the words of a highly closeted madman increasingly unwound by the force of his increasingly unreal experiences. It’s a science fiction piece; I don’t want to say much more than that. It pains me that I can’t provide more in the way of updates. I might have mentioned before, I’m working on three simultaneous projects, including a novel. It’s all a departure from my experience, but that’s the point–my growth as a writer. I never really considered the nuances of narrative perspective until the completion of my last range of short stories–still awaiting publishing–and it’s something that I’m focusing on here in my current projects. If it can seem as if three different writers will have each individually completed one of these three projects, I will have done my job well.
Thoughts of the day:
Anime is unfortunately a horrifying collection of the cliches that worked in previous animes, now being so thoroughly inbred as to be usually identical, save for a few interesting examples. I’m not just talking about character archetypes, I’m literally talking about the artistic methods in which characters show emotion. I get the sense there aren’t a great number of magnificent draftsmen in glorious Nippon, not that you’re likely to find them anywhere else. The study of weight, particularly of the human body, is a lost art. Thanks post-modernism. One day I’ll lambaste thee with a meandering rant of vitriolic character.
There are few thresholds of human potential. Some care has to be taken for one’s health, but through persistence one can often achieve what others might term superhuman ability. It’s just a lot of hard, unforgiving work. I remember when I could read 10 lines of Homer in a day. Some months later, I could read a hundred. I don’t even know how much Greek I could read now. Just think about how incompetent you were as a child. Now consider if there’s any books you think you could read in a day.
Artists frequently have substance abuse issues. Some of them overcome them, but I think they enter the field with substance abuse issues already in hand. And then they exacerbate them with demands and deadlines. And then things get so bad that they have to find a way to continue meeting deadlines without needing the gift of mind obliteration.
I’m stuck reading the Punica until I complete it. Not really a fan. You’d think I would be, and there are some moments of real greatness in the text, but I find it generally clumsy against its contemporaries. Frankly, the thought terrifies me.