rock is dead, they say... long live rock
09.16.03 @ 1:21 a.m.
I don't even know what to write, but something in me feels wrong when I don't write. So even if all I produce is completely vapid and pointless, it's some kind of necessary release.
Not that it's entirely necessary today. Today I read through two pieces of painfully fluffy fanfic from a couple of years ago, read through "Rael" (which a very few long time readers might recognize as my foray into SF that I don't know if I can finish now that I've read The Stand because you know I'll just rip all my picture of post-apocalypse from King now) and started a new piece based on Quadrophenia called "Sea and Sand." It's from a girl's point of view... you know, "the girl I used to love / lives in this yellow house / yesterday she passed me by / she don't wanna know me now" and "the girl I love / is a perfect dresser / wears every fashion / gets it to the tee / heavens above, I've got to match her / she knows just how she wants her man to be..." Only poor tortured Jimmy has been replaced by slightly stranger and I would say more tormented (if that were possible... is it?) Charlie Fitts. Where Jimmy matures, Charlie goes with my first instinct on listening to Q--Charlie attempts suicide. Attempts. His failure rather torments heroine Elizabeth (named for Elizabeth Bennet of P&P, of course) much later in her life, where I've plopped her into "I Can't Reach You" which is my very bad and very inaccurate story set during Monterey Pop and to which I've taken a "who gives a fuck, it's only for my own entertainment" approach. Thus my favorite musicans become less like the tempermental assholes they frequently were.
Long live rock, and all.
Speaking of, I adore that song for all it's relative obscurity, but it THRILLS me to hear it in the ads for School of Rock.
I'm also wondering if I'm writing in the right voice for when my stories are set. I'm worried that I've gotten too bogged down in Regency England after writing Riverwood (which also torments me in it's unedited state -- I keep starting to work on it and then abandoning it again. There are about five thousand parallel universes for Emma Rowland and Robert Beckford (et al) because I keep rewriting the beginnings of the damn thing.)
What I'd like most of all is some kind of conviction that I can write "Rael" (because I'm thinking of either doing away with the character of Celeste or sending her away early on and making it my NaNo outline) without it descending into some kind of silly romance. And, well, that I can write this story without making it completely implausable. That's the nice thing about writing in the PAST... I have very little science to worry about.
I'm also worried about (but trying not to think about) getting a third roommate for our Eugene house and what the fuck I'm going to do with myself re: school and just... everything. I've also put off making a doctors appointment that I should've made weeks (months) ago and should have tried to make today, but did I do it?
Of course not. I'm me.
Jesus Christ, Carson Daily is on. I dislike him. And it's too damn late to be up if I'm trying to keep myself on some semblance of a normal sleep cycle.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
