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In college I was a film student. I still have copies of my scripts. My notebooks were filled with story ideas and snatches of dialog. The storyteller in me disappeared with my last student film. I could not capture what was lost.
Since then I’ve been reading voraciously. Hemingway. Oates. McCarthy. Hammett.
Last night I realized why I was burning through all of those books. I yearned for a story that did not exist.
I opened a notebook and started writing. No preamble. Just one word after another. It was shocking. It was also dreadful.
I made a few edits, and unearthed a love story. In an hour the romance evolved into a love triangle.
I went to sleep at 3 a.m.
The whole experience reminds me of something Hemingway said:
“I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.”
I found some Wednesday morning inspiration on FFFFOUND!.com:
I stumbled upon a very good book last night. Ernest Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories. There was a particular passage that I feel in love with:
“He had destroyed his talent himself. Why should he blame this woman because she kept him well? He had destroyed his talent by not using it, by betrayals of himself and what he believed in, by drinking so much that he blunted the edge of his perceptions, by laziness, by sloth, and by snobbery, by pride and by prejudice, by hook and by crook. What was this? A catalogue of old books? What was his talent anyway? It was a talent all right but instead of using it, he had traded on it. It was never what he had done, but always what he could do. And he had chosen to make his living with something else instead of a pen or a pencil.”
It made me think about how I sabotage myself. How could I possibly know that reading Hemingway would inspire me to finish what I start. Breaks over — back to work.
May sound strange but yesterday I was searching my small library of books looking for meaning. I miss the joy of reading a new text. I was always a voracious reader but lately I’ve been rereading the same three books. The books in question just become more shallow with each successive read.
I stumbled upon a copy of Dante’s Inferno last night. I enjoy reading poetry aloud but this was a little more dark and moral than I intended.
Reading an illustrated copy of Dante’s Inferno before bedtime can result in some very interesting dreams. I just saw this artist on Mr.X-stitch’s website that brought the book to mind. It is disturbing and yet I could not turn my eyes away. Her work would make for a very interesting exhibition.
Beefranck’s Emporium – Alaina Varrone
I spent the bulk of my day in a knitting frenzy. I’ve got more knitting to do before tomorrow. Enjoy the link to Mr. X-stitch’s page he’s worth the trip.
Since the last blog I’ve made some time to play. I may have been inspired by Halloween but this quick little sketch could also work for Valentines Day.
The sad tale of how Frankie lost Johnnie (commonly referred to as the Bride) has been told on the screen in the classic film The Bride of Frankenstein. I always preferred the 1985 adaptation with Sting, The Bride. To this day the very sight of colorful jewels bring tears to my eyes.
*For this quick jot I took out only five prismacolor pencils. Can’t go wrong with a few healthy restrictions.
Been working on a mini-garland, this diminutive project is for a gift or to be given in place of a run of the mill card. It was not until I put in some hours doing the embroidery that I realized this could work as a part of a scrapbook.
At the moment the garland is about as big as a bottle cap. I am going to try to whittle the project down in size so that letters can be produced faster and cleaner.
The current set is going out to a group of professors that I am in debt to, they will forever remind me of all that is good in the academic world.
