In A post to keep afloat, Artists, Circus, Current reading, Hautvoir, Music, proto drafts on August 10, 2015 at 6:49 am

The usual mix. Sometimes, something jumps out of the flotsam and takes hold of the writing process. Sometimes, the eye wanders over the surface of the desk, picking up one item, setting down another. Sometimes, words acted as wake-up call. No looking around at the desk: the words propel you to the keystrokes.

Sometimes, words feel like a damn bother where music does such a fine job you wish you were a musical composer. But you’re not. Perhaps one of the characters then?

Obvious emotions beckon like lazy sirens this morning – the kind in one of the Little Nemo in Slumberland strips, drawn at a time when sirens had no tits, just a rounded curve at chest level. The sirens are there to help along Little Nemo in the task of walking on water. As with other such ventures, all goes well for him until doubt sets in.

In story terms, one of the characters expresses the doubt with two questions: how could a driver fail to see the cyclist he plowed down? How could he fail to see the motor bike headed straight for his van?

Simple, simplistic answer: those things happen. Grieve, then move on. But that’s not how story works.

Spent as much time as I could away from the news of Jean’s death yesterday. Including reading (or attempting to read) a not so-good police procedural from Iceland, picked up at the local newspaper store. Thus far, the most intriguing part of it being an astonishing little snippet where the female police officer drops the butt of her cigarette to the sidewalk, grinds out the flame with due diligence, then carries the remains to a trash can. This, and learning bars aren’t allowed to sell beer in Iceland? News to me. Or maybe the writer made that up.

Flotsam. Perhaps better thought of as peripheral vision. The not so obvious that’s there anyway – and possibly way more important than the lazy sirens surrounding Little Nemo. That particular strip found in this book I own – in which the captions are impossible to read without a magnifying glass, but that’s all right. Sometimes, as with music, images are best without the words – if you happen to prefer building your own stories on them.

(I’m clicking on the category A post to keep afloat – can’t resist the message addressed to the Little Nemo character emerging in the story: go ahead, walk on water, kid, show them it can be done.)


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