Wrote about 20,000 words in a bit less than two months for two stories. Half will need deleted. And the going is a bit slow because I'm just not sure what I'm really doing. Feel like it's too dark. And also going through the motions somewhat. And probably too worried about middle ages authenticity.
Thinking about starting another story where I really try to make it even less dark. Though I feel like it has less and less to do with me as I make it less dark. I feel the life I have experienced has made it almost impossible to write.
Have been reading Book of the Long Sun by Wolfe. Ian Mortimer's 14th century england. Murakami Men without Women. And Morrison's Song of Solomon. The last being the stand out. So good it made me wonder what the heck I was really writing myself. Murakami was very depressing. Long Sun is good. I think gods and magic really need to go together.
Showing posts with label Murakami (Haruki). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murakami (Haruki). Show all posts
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Such an extreme dreamer I've been in my life. How can it be I've never really written a true, completed story?
Other than being nothing special really when it comes to finding words and such, what happens when I'd sit down is, I'd just be blank, and then some junk would come out. I'd end up typing stuff that was just me literally talking to myself and so on. And that place. That stupid blank place. It's like a void. The writer's idiot void. Every few years I'd go there for a bit and slowly die out there in that void, then retreat from writing for a few more years.
It's time to return to the void. Unfortunately my job is such that i really can't manage to go back for 30 minutes 7 days a week. But I should be able to manage 4 days a week.
Just 30 minutes to start. See if a month later I'm still successfully managing to sit in that void for 30 minutes 4 days a week, or even perhaps doing a bit of actual writing instead.
Reading Harumi Murakami, What I Talk about When I Talk About Running.
Has some writing insights.
In the past people have talked about how one just has to sit down each day and write, and I rejected this notion because writing absolute crap, doesn't seem to me to serve any useful purpose. Perhaps though over the years my young relatively empty mind has become not quite so empty. And I will find less void and more actual meaningful direction, now.
I will at least try to have far more patience in the void.
Also was reading Storm Front by Jim Butcher.
In truth the only thing keeping me going is that a past gf loved it. And is asking if I read it. And I feel a bit bad to say I stopped a short way in. But it just has such a typical detective/private eye feel to it. I don't know. Everything's a bit too surface for me. Somewhat along recent lines with all the light vampire books.
Also The Witch and other stories by Anton Chekov, which interestingly has very much the same feel as Uncle Vanya. Doesn't have escapist decadence though.
Other than being nothing special really when it comes to finding words and such, what happens when I'd sit down is, I'd just be blank, and then some junk would come out. I'd end up typing stuff that was just me literally talking to myself and so on. And that place. That stupid blank place. It's like a void. The writer's idiot void. Every few years I'd go there for a bit and slowly die out there in that void, then retreat from writing for a few more years.
It's time to return to the void. Unfortunately my job is such that i really can't manage to go back for 30 minutes 7 days a week. But I should be able to manage 4 days a week.
Just 30 minutes to start. See if a month later I'm still successfully managing to sit in that void for 30 minutes 4 days a week, or even perhaps doing a bit of actual writing instead.
Reading Harumi Murakami, What I Talk about When I Talk About Running.
Has some writing insights.
In the past people have talked about how one just has to sit down each day and write, and I rejected this notion because writing absolute crap, doesn't seem to me to serve any useful purpose. Perhaps though over the years my young relatively empty mind has become not quite so empty. And I will find less void and more actual meaningful direction, now.
I will at least try to have far more patience in the void.
Also was reading Storm Front by Jim Butcher.
In truth the only thing keeping me going is that a past gf loved it. And is asking if I read it. And I feel a bit bad to say I stopped a short way in. But it just has such a typical detective/private eye feel to it. I don't know. Everything's a bit too surface for me. Somewhat along recent lines with all the light vampire books.
Also The Witch and other stories by Anton Chekov, which interestingly has very much the same feel as Uncle Vanya. Doesn't have escapist decadence though.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
Had a slightly unusual feel to it that was memorable. Hate to say it but seemed downright Japanese I suppose. Something vaguely different that I can't put my finger on. Although I could if I bothered. But why go to so much trouble to be politically incorrect?
I don't particularly remember what exactly kept it all going. Some magical murderer guy who had to stopped. There's nothing in it remotely related to Kafka that I can see. Which seems like a false representation to me. I can't recall any great injustice or any great vague wonderful a looming. Not really much in the way of interesting insights. Had some good parts I suppose that really had a surreal dreamlike quality.
Had a slightly unusual feel to it that was memorable. Hate to say it but seemed downright Japanese I suppose. Something vaguely different that I can't put my finger on. Although I could if I bothered. But why go to so much trouble to be politically incorrect?
I don't particularly remember what exactly kept it all going. Some magical murderer guy who had to stopped. There's nothing in it remotely related to Kafka that I can see. Which seems like a false representation to me. I can't recall any great injustice or any great vague wonderful a looming. Not really much in the way of interesting insights. Had some good parts I suppose that really had a surreal dreamlike quality.
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