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But First

Original: http://theirison.deviantart.com/art/no-name-yet-91337146?loggedin=1

Unprotected: http://ffffound.com/image/3bbdb0b242bf674aa55cbc9c5582d257daaf4018

I have to image my thoughts and reactions mirrored those of a man staring down a 72 mile an hour Peterbilt—except with less of an erection.  Everything shimmering for attention; nothing fading to the periphery.

First I notice her unnatural Cardinal-red hair; coal-black eyebrows; and gem-green eyes.  First I see her tiny areoles and upraised nipples like arrows bullseying two targets and waiting on a quiver more to be loosed.  First I stare at her asymmetrical tattoos.  Her left arm sleeve is a whirlwind of all the classics: Hula Girl, Oriental Flower, Aboriginal, and Jailhouse Knuckles—a Stabbed Heart with Mom Scroll curiously absent.  A Bald Eagle clutching a Skull descends through her cleavage and a Lotus Blossom flanked by handmaiden Roses rises womanly from her other cleavage.

But first I’m drawn to how her hips drift outward and upward then give way to her waist.  Then first I see that gentle angle mimics the slighter softer one spreading her collarbones to her shoulders.

But even before all those startled yet meandering thoughts I think her red, white, and blue starred panties seem simultaneously incongruous, because she’s Russian, and patriotic, because we’re in a DC hotel.  Then, first, I consider her not sitting in bed slender, legs bent with knees to her chin like an innocent, nor sprawled with smooth legs twined creating a focus line drawing my attention along the contoured horizon of her warm skin to her blush-pink lips and wanton smile.  Instead I first realize she stands in the bed waiting not for me to approach but waiting for her decision on when and how to attack.

I have no control here.  Every inclination I’ve considered, every consideration I’ve deliberated, every deliberation I’ve set aside she inspired in me.  This night will not end until she closes it down.

Day 400

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From Chaotic Incense

In the early days of 1000 Days I created images.  I constructed these two-word phrases from random pages on the Internet—mostly wikipedia which has a function for that.  Today I’m culling one from the aging herd as a writing anchor.

Anna lit the incense wand with a wooden match.  She slowly twirled the stick between her thumb and index finger to distribute the heat of the flame and even the coal.  After a suitable portion warmed to a glowing core she gently puffed the flame dead and placed the stick in its simpled curved teak burner.  Anna wafted the smoke to her face with both hands then scooped it like water and rinsed it over her twisted black hair.

The smoke rose strongly from the end of the stick like water from a faucet, but quickly attenuated into a ribbon, then curls, then a cloud, and finally haze.  Anna watched the ribbon waver in the air like a woman at prayer.  Its…

Day 399

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Finally a Crack Appears

From the second chapter of Scene & Structure I pick up easily my best writing instruction in years.  I find it awkward to share this revelation.  It’s not new instruction.  It’s not sophisticated instruction.  Define your characters’ self-concept then oppose it.

I immediately recognized what Bickham wrote as what I’ve read elsewhere—even seen codified into software—but from a different angle.  Previously I’ve read this int he form of a question.  This question: “What are you character’s goals?”.  Fuck if I know.  If I knew I wouldn’t be sitting here reading your book I’d be writing my story.  Defining characters’ goals never made sense to me because doing so was step two.  I needed step one.  Now I’ve got it.

Still Bickham twists this just right for me.  He doesn’t ask, “Who are your characters?”.  He asks me to consider who my characters think they are.  Discussing characters that way released a long dormant epiphany for me.  I distinguish between asking my characters to tell me who they are—anthropomorphic bullshit —and them defining who they are.  I never speak as if my characters exist.  However,  them thinking they do is perfectly reasonable.

  • Brother Gane – believes himself helpful and proficient but still hasn’t found the proper place to be either.
  • Mr. Johnathan Goffe – observes but doesn’t get involved.  His profession as photographer symbolizes this perception.  Moreover he feels the world around him has separated itself from him to be observed.
  • Tritti the Pilgrim – feels a destiny outside her home village.  She knows she is equal to any task.  She is naive.
  • You – is a skilled killer just this side of assassin and an avid startrotter.
  • Ailchas – soldiers as one lucky and skilled enough to become an old one.

Day 397