Friday, November 28, 2008
Lost the blog again. Blame it on Microrsoft..Or my soft head. Now you get snippets.
I did it again.
Wrote a blog, made a copy. But there was an error. Hit the wrong button. Nobody was saved.
Lost the whole shooting match.
I think it's my browser. Certainly the jar of "cookies:" is long gone.
Buck up, f*ck-up!
Lana will scold! :)
So now all you get is snippets of a novel in progress. To wit,
Stalking is a no- no.
But this was a special case.
A Nick Carter, Master Detective case.
In the first place, The Blue Angel had made a total fool out of the professor, having sex with not only tried-and-true husband, but also the mysterious stranger.
Nobody reading this blog would remember anything from 1936, but in the famous German movie with Marlene Dietrich, Professor Jalbert is cuckolded and bidden to act like Chicken Man in a walk-on scene, in the Blue Angel's cabaret routine, The professor crows like a rooster, while dressed in a clown outfit. He is having a nervous breakdown over his wife's carrying on with the stage director. But he crows all the same.
One is not sure whether to cry or laugh over this scene.
In the the classic gothic novel, the heroine usually lives in a castle and is purued by a villain, usually Italian. The professor, in his Sherlock Holmes (Holden Caulfield?) hat. He has to find the mysterious Italian. Close with him. Pop him one.
It's really a matter of ego.
Some Sicilian has done the professor a dirty. The professor, probably half-mad with Celia's mind games, has decided he is not going to lose at love again.
There is also the posssibility that the Italian is indeed a vampire, but of a different sort. He might be a high-level drug dealer and very likely a master pimp.
The professor had been observing and reading, viz:
Lief the Unlucky, Celia's husband, worked for a large overground
drug company with ties all the way up to External Affairs Canada which at the same time
had strange anthropological ties to Astralopitchecus Paisan.
Overground drug company becomes underground Mafia River is jungle and jungle is river.
How badly we Canadians are served by a weasly media.
Only Montreal police and Montreal journalists seem really up to their jobs.
Enough that our professor has decided to give chase....
Kinda exciting, no?
Well, I never did finish the longer form of this novel..
I am now working on another novel, but I am told you have to structure, structure, structure.
And I am especially prone to stream-of-consciousness.
So I take an excellent Joyce Carol Oates novel and use it for structure, viz:
Comprising five sections, each subdivided into short chapters, Unholy Loves moves through an academic year in the lives of the members of the English department at Woodslee University in upstate New York. Each section is introduced by a date on which a social event occurs: September 1, November 5, December 31, March 8, and May 10. At the center of each event is the presence or absence of Albert St. Dennis, famous English poet-in-residence, whom more prestigious universities have failed to attract to their campuses. The action of the novel takes place in upstate New York and Montreal.
You're not stealing from the excellent Joyce Carol Oates. You're just stealing her envelope
So you set off to write your own novel, which will have, heh, five sections, each subdivided into short chapters. You move through your own academic year in the lives of your English department at Seneca College, King City, Canada.
But it is only an envelope. The story seems to have a life of its own, and it's trying to escape the prison of form.
But I must remember to structure, structure, structure. One editor from the past had said I write too much and not structure enough.
I re-read Ms. Oates perfect little masterlpiece, Unholy Loves.
It's got structue. Lots of structure.
But in her novel too, sometrhing is trying to get out.
I read the book again, and Carramba!
The structured was probably superimposed on the book after she had written it.
It is stream-of-consciousness!
Well, I have one thing in common with the great lady.
I hate structure.
I write stream-of-consciousness.
" Miss Scarlett, the war is over!"
:"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Rhett Butler is a loser!
I am a loser.
Almost lost this blog too.
Latin for dodo is Didus Ineptus.
Well, flap my wings!