Dreary, is the word that comes to mind—at this
particular moment in time; in regards to
the state of my up and coming novel,
which in fact is nearly five months over
due.
Then, a swelling of the
creative energetic
surge (Urge?):
I find myself wanting to
scribe a
history
of great gods, before the fall of the
Sumerian.
And link it to Gods inexistence—
"Somewhere between Oblivion and You.
I write these words, and marvel at the pain
in my heart, My dear Luci." - From my
novel.
Naive
serendipity dripping as well ink tends
to do from a memorable pen.
Five years…Five years.
No, this is not a rehash of a
David Bowie
song—it is the time and space (Somewhere,
Somehow) it’s taken me to get from point
A to point B,
with many a twist and turn (Turn about, turn
around) and I wonder, when I get right down
to it: Why can I write of an in everything
else,
except my
novel.
Check mate…Queen takes King.
You know, it started simple enough—as all
ideas do, I presume.
A minute
plot, a interweaving of layers,
an over the top
climax and the great let
down.
Good conquers Evil and the Flaming Hot-n-Tot
rouge gets the garter clad Mademoiselle in
distress.
Cliché. Drama.
To quote from
Topsy-Turvy: “Laugher, Curtain,
Tears.”
There is a difference, My Difference and
indifferent take on the whole
religion versus
science monologue.
Where
Good and
Evil are both sides of the
Popes coin, and where as
Milton wrote of
Lucifer being a tragic hero, overcome with
belated sorrow;
My version involves all
creation in a virtual
time-stand-still, never-may-care sort of
plush and puke
environment.
Ah, yes—the most redundant of places
New
Orleans. But why stop there! So many settings
and so many multi-dimensional characters.
Munich,
Champagne,
Sicily,
London,
Rome…Oh!
To write, is to
paint a vivid picture—to
paint scenes in
letters and
punctuation.
To have the reader surmise and construe the
exact
passion the
writer felt she needed
to breath life in any given
paragraph----
But I do regress.