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Is this what they call buttsex (anag)?
Jun. 26th, 2007 12:51 pmI didn't think I'd write at all this weekend just gone. I had friends coming round Sunday afternoon, to meet Mac and help me shelve and shift stuff; what with all the shopping & cleaning & cooking (lunch and dinner! apparently humans expect to eat twice in a day! who knew?) which that inevitably entailed, I was not budgeting for work.
Saturday afternoon, though, heading into town for the second time that day, for all the shopping I'd forgotten first time through, I remembered that we are now committed to a date for the Summer Phantoms gig at the Lit & Phil. (August 2nd, 6.30pm, come one come all: new ghost stories from Sean O'Brien, Gail-Nina Anderson and self. In a mysterious new setting. If you don't come, you'll never know...)(Obviously this is a lie, because I will Reveal All in this very blog; but for now, it serves as an inducement.)
Which means, obviously, that I have to write a story, quietly in the back room while I work on my novel in the front. I've been oddly unstressed about this, because I did already have a title and something of a first line, and what more does any story need? (Any smart-ass saying "A ghost would be good!" will be sent out of the room without supper.)
But there I was, walky-walky over the moor, thinking about it, and I realised that I had something of a plot already, also; and, nay, more! For when I lined it all up in my head - this character, that character, storyline, atmosphere, ghost - it struck me so suddenly that I almost stopped and said the words aloud: "Oh, so that's what this is about...!"
I have said, many times and oft, that if my work ever has a theme it rises through the process and reveals itself to readers, not to me. My stories aren't About stuff, until other people tell me that they are. And yet, and yet, there it was! Staring me in the face!
I can has subtext nao?
(And then I came home and wrote 750 words to start it off, so that's okay...)
Saturday afternoon, though, heading into town for the second time that day, for all the shopping I'd forgotten first time through, I remembered that we are now committed to a date for the Summer Phantoms gig at the Lit & Phil. (August 2nd, 6.30pm, come one come all: new ghost stories from Sean O'Brien, Gail-Nina Anderson and self. In a mysterious new setting. If you don't come, you'll never know...)(Obviously this is a lie, because I will Reveal All in this very blog; but for now, it serves as an inducement.)
Which means, obviously, that I have to write a story, quietly in the back room while I work on my novel in the front. I've been oddly unstressed about this, because I did already have a title and something of a first line, and what more does any story need? (Any smart-ass saying "A ghost would be good!" will be sent out of the room without supper.)
But there I was, walky-walky over the moor, thinking about it, and I realised that I had something of a plot already, also; and, nay, more! For when I lined it all up in my head - this character, that character, storyline, atmosphere, ghost - it struck me so suddenly that I almost stopped and said the words aloud: "Oh, so that's what this is about...!"
I have said, many times and oft, that if my work ever has a theme it rises through the process and reveals itself to readers, not to me. My stories aren't About stuff, until other people tell me that they are. And yet, and yet, there it was! Staring me in the face!
I can has subtext nao?
(And then I came home and wrote 750 words to start it off, so that's okay...)
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