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Fiction is Haaaard
Sep. 17th, 2009 11:03 am...as everybody who commits it on a semi-regular basis knows, so yeah, not exactly big news. What always amuses me about sex, however--writing it, anyways--is that I'm constantly worrying either about it being too filthy (an oxymoron) or about the fact that when it inevitably metastasizes, the stuff which gets added is usually psychology, rather than more porn. Because, I guess, I have a thought-process fetish, on top of everything else.;)
Here I am, therefore, chugging away...the entire scene outlined from beginning to end, with not a lot left to do except shuffle stuff into the right slots, render the dialogue as such rather than scripted lines, and finish up, finish up, finish up. Yet I of course keep finding myself getting side-tracked, sometimes by genuine physical issues (man, my shoulder and my knee are screwing me HARD, and not in the good sense), but more often because I keep glitching, then making notes about other stuff entirely. The fact that sixteenbynine's recent Merry Christmas Mister Lawrence review reminded me exactly what a classic ur-text that film was for me, for example, back when I was first spinning my slashy cocoon; don't think I've seen a single frame of it for maybe fifteen years, but it informs a lot of my early work, up to and including that three-day novel I co-wrote with Steve, The Long Jump Rigger and the Killing Angel (which still desperately needs to be fitted up and sent somewhere, because it has real qualities extending far beyond its jailer/prisoner core, IMNSHO). Or the fact, now that I'm done with it, that Paul Theroux's The Black House has at least enough off-putting sexual weirdness in it to qualify it for weepingcock inclusion: The "velvet jowls" of a chick's vagina, anyone? (It's not exactly inaccurate as a description, since there is a lot of loose flesh down there, but...ewww. Just ew.)
Still, I found a copy of Aimee Mann's Effin' Smilers, so I'm happy. Burnt my copy of the NBK soundtrack again, too. And I will probably talk about that later, since sovay's interested...but not right now.
Right now: The grind. In more ways than one.;)
Here I am, therefore, chugging away...the entire scene outlined from beginning to end, with not a lot left to do except shuffle stuff into the right slots, render the dialogue as such rather than scripted lines, and finish up, finish up, finish up. Yet I of course keep finding myself getting side-tracked, sometimes by genuine physical issues (man, my shoulder and my knee are screwing me HARD, and not in the good sense), but more often because I keep glitching, then making notes about other stuff entirely. The fact that sixteenbynine's recent Merry Christmas Mister Lawrence review reminded me exactly what a classic ur-text that film was for me, for example, back when I was first spinning my slashy cocoon; don't think I've seen a single frame of it for maybe fifteen years, but it informs a lot of my early work, up to and including that three-day novel I co-wrote with Steve, The Long Jump Rigger and the Killing Angel (which still desperately needs to be fitted up and sent somewhere, because it has real qualities extending far beyond its jailer/prisoner core, IMNSHO). Or the fact, now that I'm done with it, that Paul Theroux's The Black House has at least enough off-putting sexual weirdness in it to qualify it for weepingcock inclusion: The "velvet jowls" of a chick's vagina, anyone? (It's not exactly inaccurate as a description, since there is a lot of loose flesh down there, but...ewww. Just ew.)
Still, I found a copy of Aimee Mann's Effin' Smilers, so I'm happy. Burnt my copy of the NBK soundtrack again, too. And I will probably talk about that later, since sovay's interested...but not right now.
Right now: The grind. In more ways than one.;)
