theholyinnocent: (nabokov)
::tap tap:: This thing still on?

I'm sure many of you have noticed that lj is kind of...well...slow these days. Yes, it bums me out too. But the kids have this thing called tumblr going on, and I have a writing tumblr set up for the time being, until tumblr starts being uncool (God knows how yahoo might screw it up) and I revert back to lj or writing on quill & parchment and sending them via raven for the Lannisters' book club:

The Revisionist

You can be sure it will be updated at my usual snail-like pace! If the spirit moves me I may try to post stories here to lj, but for now my tumblr is the main recourse for the writing thang.

I also have a nonwriting-oriented tumblr: The Enchanted Hunter. (You can never have too many Nabokov references.)

Happy long weekend to all, and a good summer! (Hopefully I will check in again before it's over!)
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Yeah, I know. Long time no blather. I got a little sidetracked, shall we say. But it's summer, and I'm here, and it's eleventy million steaming degrees outside, and there's nothing on TV, and I saw Prometheus and thought it was meh (although Michael Fassbender is the cutest robot ever), so I'm back with more vague promises about writing! Yay!

Recently I took advantage of being sick to finish a certain monkey-on-my-back story, which infused me with a giddy sense of accomplishment (or maybe it was the meds). Actually, it was good, it felt good, and gave me a sense of closure in a way--I feel as if this is the last fanfic story I'll probably do, that I've brought it all full circle (ending in the fandom I started with), my palate is cleansed. Of course, part of my personal philosophy is "never say never" because never usually comes around and bites you on the ass, and I see photos like this, of Deborah Kerr and Ava Gardner together and think, what if they had a mad crazy affair while filming Night of the Iguana?

Photobucket

No, no, I must resist!

So on the docket is a rewrite of an old thing I posted yonks ago. And I've been making notes on a WW II novel. Baby steps, baby. Baby steps. Any progress I make will be posted here and possibly on a tumblr. I'm not exactly compelled by the wanderlust, but some kind of curiosity or hunger keeps me going creatively.
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In the late morning the light slants through a small, high square window with colored glass, angled in perfection so that the sun bowls a strike and hits me squarely in the face. (Have I been thinking too much about The Big Lebowski lately?) Today the light stipples my eyelashes and, holding my head just so, each eyelash is magnified, impregnated with bright globes of color filaments, gold, lavender, orange, that softly disintegrate no matter how long I hold that position, or how many incremental shifts of my head I use in order to recapture it. The sun moves, the day moves, it's time to get up. If only I could wake up like this every day.
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The Cynic Who is Wizened ([livejournal.com profile] wizened_cynic) posted this horrible meme thing (horrible, I tell you! So horrible I couldn't resist) that tells you which famous writer you most resemble style-wise. (Can you imagine doing this for sex? Answer a few prurient questions and you get a result like "I fuck like...Madame de Pompadour!" "I fuck like...David Duchovny after seven glasses of wine!")

So I plugged in some text from one of my stories, the conclusion of Coup de Grace. And got this:



I write like
Dan Brown

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!




This is like telling me I'm retarded. Was it because the section in question mentioned Italy? Does the thing think I'm trying to recreate The Da Vinci Code? Now I have an idea: Mel and Janice meet the Illuminati. Mel would solve the Da Vinci code in 5 minutes flat, Janice would steal one of the Pope's mitres, you know she can't resist a good hat, they have sex in the Sistine Chapel, THE END. Thank you.

Then I had the thing analyze a bit from "Memory Extant," one of my first SVU stories, a section that includes Olivia in a dyke bar and the phrase "fucked up," and I get this:



I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!




A section from "Nightclub," an SVU/BG ficlet, yielded this:



I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!




The beginning of "Love and Death in the Trailer Park" gave me this:



I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!




Which seems rather spot on, I admit.

The Cynic's various writing samples yielded similar scattershot opinions. I might have been better off asking Paul the Octopus:




"Don't call my name, don't call my name, holyinnocento! I'm not your babe, I'm not your babe, it's Esperanto!"

Wait. Wrong octopussy. Here's Paul:



"You write like the Netherlands...kind of orangey and like soccer cleats to the chest. Does that help?"

Now that sounds about right. Thank you, Paul!
theholyinnocent: (Default)
It's spring, and a not-so-young woman's fancy turns to...writing. I've been dithering about, unsure of what to focus on next, So I put the question to you, kind readers, you people I know not except online or drunkenly, but whose support helps keep me plugging away. So if you have an opinion or a preference, let it fly. (And [livejournal.com profile] fewthistle, you are only allowed to vote once and are not permitted to use your influence, cooking and/or writing abilities, or sexual favors, to sway anyone!) Obviously I can't guarantee that I will actually, you know, listen--in the end I have to go with my gut--but I am curious to see what you all think.

And besides, who doesn't love a poll? Jerri Blank does! In fact, she loves the poll AND the hole! (Sorry, can't resist.)

[Poll #1550245]

nano? o no!

Nov. 1st, 2009 03:01 pm
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She's Yoko's cousin, and she's in town for a month. Yes, it's that time of year again when so many of us try to write a novel, or 50,000 words at least, in one month. The last time I seriously tried to do Nano was about 3 years ago. I dug out the project I was working on then, and oshkosh by gosh, I actually had about 22,000 words written before I hit the wall. Is it cheating if I take that already extant draft and run with it? Please say no!

Recently I finished doing some minor revisions on and cleaning up of Coup de Grace in its entirety, and it struck me (again), how fucking long it is. So I know I have the capability to crank out stuff. I just need to be more disciplined and more efficient; in theory doing Nano Ono is a good idea and a step in the right direction. If I do make some substantial progress this month I will post some bits here and there, but I hardly think that any draft I have at the end of the month will be entirely fit for human consumption.

updates

Mar. 24th, 2009 12:13 pm
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Added "new" stories to ye olde website: Leica, which was posted here about a year or two ago, and a longer, revised version of In Sorrento, written last fall.
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Pretty much finished archiving everything worth archiving here. There were some shorter SVU pieces over on [livejournal.com profile] thursday100plus from way back when that I did not add: half were not added out of sheer laziness, the other half because I didn't think they were up to snuff. I might go back and add the few I liked later.

And now I am drinking a nice Malbec and thinking of watching Pat & Mike on TV. Or, perhaps, checking out some scandalous online photos of my rehab comrade [livejournal.com profile] adastranot. (Sweetie, a perm? You have moxie posting those photos, I tell you!)

p.s. I hear they gave Barbara Bush a heart! I'm so happy!
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Finally pulling together the SVU drabbles I wrote over the years and putting them in one place:
69 Drabbles.
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Hey Ian McShane
Why are you in Death Race? Money?
No, Swearengen, no!
theholyinnocent: (Default)
Via Arts & Letters: A take from the Literary Review of Canada on fan fiction.

From the article: "So where does all this leave fan fiction? It may be that its shadowy status – largely tolerated, but legally vulnerable – leaves it just where it ought to be, in a healthy state of tension between fans and authors. Because the fact is that fan fiction has so far been able to operate as a tolerated use, if not a fair use. Both parties have good reasons to accommodate the concerns of the other. No one wants to crush a fan; and fans don’t want to damage their favorite author’s livelihood or reputation. Fan fiction, particularly under Canadian law, and in view of authors’ moral rights, requires the author’s forbearance, and probably deserves a degree of that."
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Today my other half sent me this article about a writer who couldn't get his second novel published and so resorted to the lucrative field of writing pornily. (He writes gay erotic fic under the nom de plume of James Lear; his mySpace page is here."I know about half of you are like, "Oh yeah, him. Love him!"). She added, in her email: "Are you sure you can't write smut?" (Translation: "You need to make money, you fucking slacker bitch, so I have can a Tuscan villa!") In the article Mr. Lear, aka Rupert Smith, is quite proud when a reader on amazon describes his novels as "smut with pretensions."

So it got me thinking about porn/erotica. Well, sort of. I've got the pretension part down pat, but I really think I suck at smut. So help me out, flist. Tell me what you like. Recommend a story--long, short, plotless, or even poetry. Preferably girl-on-girl, but I can be flexible. It doesn't have to be fanfic (but please, no space aliens, no Trek, no ALF), but it has to be something you think is really good and really hot. I know [livejournal.com profile] ralst posted a similar query to her flist a while back, but just humor me. Or, as Gabrielle has said to Xena in legions of first-time stories, "Make me a woman."
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In the early 1970s, kidnappings and carjackings did not seem to loom as dangerous possibilities for those of us who grew up in the hinterlands; perhaps the more psycho criminals had not yet migrated out of the cities, and they definitely did not have CSI episodes and Dateline specials to fuel their imaginations. At any rate, it didn’t seem like a problem. I tell you this because I do not want you to think ill of my dearly departed mother who, during the course of my childhood and adolescence, frequently left me waiting in idling cars while she went on about her business in banks and stores and whatnot.

It was during one such sojourn—I think Mom had run into the A & P, which later became the Giant—that I was sitting in the car (was it the little white Mercury with the stick shift?), running the battery down by listening to the radio when this very intriguing song began: A deep-voiced man was singing about a velvet morning and a gate and how he was going to tell us something about a woman named Phaedra. Then it got really trippy: the tempo shifted abruptly, and this dreamy-voiced woman started singing about flowers and daffodils and ended her refrain by quietly declaring, Phaedra is my name. In an era of very odd pop songs (Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on?), this seemed pretty damn weird to my very young brain.

And then the song was over and the damn DJ didn’t tell us who it was.

The song remained a mystery to me for good twenty-five years. Occasionally, drunk at parties, I might ask a stranger, “Hey you know that song…about a velvet morning…?” At which point they would find a legitimate reason to finally walk away from me. But thank God for internet radio: One day several years ago, I was listening to Luxuria Music, and they played the song: “Some Velvet Morning,” written by Lee Hazlewood and performed by Lee and Nancy Sinatra. Further research uncovered the fact that Lee wrote a whole bunch of songs for Nancy, his one-time paramour, including the classic “These Boots Were Made for Walkin.’”

Earlier this week, Lee Hazlewood died at his home in Nevada; he was 78. He may not have been an artist and innovator in the league of Ingmar Bergman (even though Lee did live in Sweden for many years), but he was a damn good songwriter and a true original.

Here is the song that haunted me:

Lee Hazlewood & Nancy Sinatra: Some Velvet Morning

And here’s Sam Phillips covering Nancy’s signature tune:

Sam Phillips: These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

And here’s to you, Lee. Godspeed.

Edited to fix: Lee's home was in Nevada, not California. Sorry, Lee!
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PSA: My fellow Americans, remember to get out and VOTE today! As for the rest of you, please try not to ridicule us too much. Okay, go ahead and ridicule us; I know you want to.

Reading: Lately I've been reading Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel. Kind of ironic given that (1) I don't travel that much, and (2) do Botton's book about Proust has the distinct feature of being one of those books that I derived not a goddamn thing from except vague pleasure--a literary macaroon. Only time will tell if this book leaves a similar impression, but so far it's leaving a good taste in my mouth. It's like a caramel fudge brownie. Mmmm, brownies. What was I saying?

Anyway, one of the chapters in The Art of Travel is about Flaubert's famous trip to Egypt (contrasted with the author's more pedestrian trip to Amsterdam), and it's chock full of wonderfully melodramatic quotes from the great francophobe: "At the end of the day, shit. With that mighty word, you can console yourself for all human miseries, so I enjoy repeating it: shit, shit." Flaubert might have got on swimmingly with Al Swearengen. And: "My life, which in my dreams is so beautiful, so poetic, so vast, so filled with love, will turn out to be like everyone else's: monotonous, sensible, stupid." Sucks to be Flaubert, you know?
But he articulates a dilemma, a state of being, that is somewhat typical for writers: These ideas, images, thoughts that share the provenance of the mind always seems so much more alluring and attractive than real life, and despite our best efforts it's hard to import those wonderful things in our brains to either life or the written page.

Which leads me to...

NanNoBlowsMo: So far this seems to be a disaster. All I have is a draft that needed serious gutting, an underfed notebook of scribbled scenes and phrases and titles, and the insane idea of inserting a mini-operetta in the middle of it all. [Flaubert to his lover: "What stops me from taking myself seriously, even though I'm essentially a serious person, is that I find myself extremely ridiculous..."]

I'm not giving up, but I'm not feeling very encouraged either. Admittedly, it's my own fault and I haven't been managing time very well. I've been caught up in "the busy dance of things that pass away."--in a chapter on Wordsworth and the Lake District, de Botton also scares up some more good quotes from that poet. It made me go back and quickly reread Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey":

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years.


Maybe I just need to get my Wordsworth on.
theholyinnocent: (Default)
You don't need to write! Or even spell! Or even have an idea! So go here.
theholyinnocent: (Default)
This one's for [livejournal.com profile] daf9, I believe. (I'm having a problem keeping them all straight, so to speak. But this isn't girlslash, so...) 635 words, L&O: CI.

{eta: [livejournal.com profile] bast2's dusty springfield icon was an obvious influence in the writing of this.}

The Epic Drunk )
theholyinnocent: (Default)
This one's for [livejournal.com profile] bast2. L&O, featuring Arthur & Serena. It's a little over 500 words.

The Heart Can be a Lonely Hunter, but Sometimes the Heart Can be Elmer Fudd )
theholyinnocent: (Default)
It's all about meme...took this from [livejournal.com profile] ki_finn because she posted it & I made her write a drabble and then she was like, "bitch, now you have to post this in your lj and be a writing ho for your peeps, yo" except she said it in her genteel, well-heeled Canadian way.

So: Leave a comment with a drabble request, pairing or character-based. Give me one line of dialogue to be written in a drabble/ficlet (100-500 words). After you comment, put this meme in your own journal.

Oh, and one final thing: You must also tell me your favorite kind of pie.

Shows I can (probably) write about: All L&Os (caveat: I'm very weak on early mothership, like Ben, Max etc., and Claire & Jamie are a blur to me now); X-Files; L-word (willing to give it a shot); ER. That's it, I think.

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