Looking for the water from a deeper well
Oct. 12th, 2007 11:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceMy head hurts.
Emmylou Harris is a goddess, but my head hurts none the less.
Still, I have finished my chapter, which signifies some kind of progress; it's one of the things about writing fifteen hundred, two thousand words a day, you do get to tick the chapters off fairly regularly. Barely seems like yesterday I was finishing the last, and look, here I am printing out another.
Also I had one of those last-minute - no, not inspirations, realisations, because of course it was there all the time, just waitin' for me to spot it. Of course she shaves the baby's head, last thing. How not? She did something terrible with a blade, at the start; at the end, she does something saving. With a blade. That's how it works. Everything is cyclical, everything reflects. Nothing is symmetrical, but what goes around comes around in one form or another. If anybody notices.
It is even possible that I will in the end find an end to this book. Can't see it yet, tho' I've just passed the 450-page marker I had set myself to finish by. It's foolish, to be standing here and not have the end in sight yet. Like fighting your way all the way to the pole and finding that the bloody thing's shifted, it's not under the North Star any more. Or else your dogs aren't tired and you've still got some pemmican on the sled and you can't quite see a reason to stop yet, this journey isn't over.
Mostly, I think I've just taken a stupid roundabout route with the wrong kind of pony, sheer self-indulgence 'cos it's not like this is a race or anything, Amundsen went to the other bloody pole so all I had to do was get there and I will, of course, but not by any route that anyone else is going to want to follow.
Still. One more chapter. Go me. I would say 'go team me' but I have to tell you, the teamwork at this end is disappointing. I end up doing everything, my own self.
Still. Emmylou. On the TV. All evening.
A friend of mine sent me a postcard once from Marianne Faithfull's kitchen table. Another friend has had drinks with Janis Ian.
At heart I'm just a fanboy, waiting for the chance to squee.
Emmylou Harris is a goddess, but my head hurts none the less.
Still, I have finished my chapter, which signifies some kind of progress; it's one of the things about writing fifteen hundred, two thousand words a day, you do get to tick the chapters off fairly regularly. Barely seems like yesterday I was finishing the last, and look, here I am printing out another.
Also I had one of those last-minute - no, not inspirations, realisations, because of course it was there all the time, just waitin' for me to spot it. Of course she shaves the baby's head, last thing. How not? She did something terrible with a blade, at the start; at the end, she does something saving. With a blade. That's how it works. Everything is cyclical, everything reflects. Nothing is symmetrical, but what goes around comes around in one form or another. If anybody notices.
It is even possible that I will in the end find an end to this book. Can't see it yet, tho' I've just passed the 450-page marker I had set myself to finish by. It's foolish, to be standing here and not have the end in sight yet. Like fighting your way all the way to the pole and finding that the bloody thing's shifted, it's not under the North Star any more. Or else your dogs aren't tired and you've still got some pemmican on the sled and you can't quite see a reason to stop yet, this journey isn't over.
Mostly, I think I've just taken a stupid roundabout route with the wrong kind of pony, sheer self-indulgence 'cos it's not like this is a race or anything, Amundsen went to the other bloody pole so all I had to do was get there and I will, of course, but not by any route that anyone else is going to want to follow.
Still. One more chapter. Go me. I would say 'go team me' but I have to tell you, the teamwork at this end is disappointing. I end up doing everything, my own self.
Still. Emmylou. On the TV. All evening.
A friend of mine sent me a postcard once from Marianne Faithfull's kitchen table. Another friend has had drinks with Janis Ian.
At heart I'm just a fanboy, waiting for the chance to squee.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-12 10:19 pm (UTC)I'm so glad the Work is in Progress. Go, Team Chaz!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-12 10:37 pm (UTC)Are you allowed to do that? I lurve that, and it would never have occurred to me. Not that I would ever have said Magnum Opuses, you understand: I'd have caught myself halfway and blundered through Magnum Opera and then thought no, the magnum would have to agree - and before I arrived at your elegant solution I would've chickened out and decreed that it could never be plural anyway, because no doubt magnum implied a unique quality, so...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-22 07:36 am (UTC)