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Goddammit, I hate it when I'm writing and yet my brain is not cooperating. It's almost worst than not writing anything at all. A while ago I wrote a story based around an early Porcupine Tree song. I guess this is a bit like writing from dreams - the imagery is good but there's nothing there. So I've been mulling this over for the past few weeks, wondering where it's going to go. Yesterday I sat down for 15 minutes before work and scribbled out three opening paragraphs. Nothing there, but this morning when I looked at them again and came up with a whole plot, motivation etc thinger and created a creepy mountain town to set it all in. This morning's efforts I'm quite pleased with, but as for this evening's efforts, I've lost the (metaphorical) plot again. I just seem to be telling the story, but not actually writing it. So, back to where I left off this morning. Still, that's 750 words, which is a good writing day.

In other news I've had two particularly vivid dreams these last two nights. Wednesday night saw me having to give a talk about Stephen Fry's "The Ode Less Travelled", so I spent most of my time worrying because I hadn't finished the book and didn't know how to go about explaining the mathematics of a sestina. To add to the panic, Stephen Fry turned up in the bookshop cafe I was giving the talk in and was signing autographs for the Japanese shop staff.

Last night's dream was most clearly influenced by [livejournal.com profile] greygirlbeast's story "In the Water Works" from American Supernatural Tales which I picked up in Nagoya on Sunday. I was forcing myself out of the bookshop as I passed it, and almost put it back down until I clocked the story as one I hadn't read. The dream was about people who had to enter an alternate reality once they reached a certain age (different for each person). I clearly recall the end of the dream where a teenage boy is being attacked by black tentacles coming out from beneath his bed and bookcase. He locks himself in the wardrobe, but there is a struggle inside and the doors swing back open to reveal an empty space, only ruffled clothes hanging there.

Which reminds me, wasn't there some kids film about creatures that came out from under your bed and dragged you into some kind of demon world? I have a clear image of someone being dragged underneath their bed...

I also read David J Schow's "Last Call For the Sons of Shock" which I was mightily amused by, and Joyce Carol Oates' "Demon" which was odd, and then grisly. Excellent Halloween reading material.

Australia pics can be seen soon...
blacklilly: (Default)
For years Gideon would play Porcupine Tree albums when we were listening to music, or just doing the washing up. I couldn't stand them. I used to turn them off because certain albums (particularly Metanoia) drove me round the bend. Then, maybe 18 months ago I copied the entire PT catalogue onto my iTunes and after skipping PT songs when they played I finally just let them play through. Then Deadwing was released and my view of them began to change. I know, I know, I fell prey to their most commercial effort so far, but what it did do is make me go back through the old stuff.

I now have a minor obsession with them, so much so that the story I wrote yesterday was inspired by a very strange track on PT's very first album called "Space Transmission". It gives me the creeps if I listen to it late at night. The story was also aided by listening to "Dark Matter" and "Light Mass Prayers" from the Signify album and Ghosts on Magnetic Tape, which is a drone-style album from one of Steve Wilson's other projects, Bass Communion. I had them on repeat while I was writing the first draft version on Monday. The story went places yesterday I had no conscious plans for, which is always nice, and makes me wonder where these things come from.

In other writing news I had a story and a poem rejected from a magazine earlier this week, which did not aid the bad mood. Anyway, I emailed my friend B, who read them before they went off, and mentioned how I have a tendency to see the bad side of all these things. She came back with this:

I have been saying to myself lately that the world is full of people who like to tell you what you can't do. Sometimes its ourselves too!

Bollocks to them!
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I haven't posted properly for a couple of weeks, so we'll see if whatever comes out of my brain now will be worth the wait.
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