Today was a day of musing, I guess.
To muse is to achieve, and as the only thing I managed to achieve today was to get up and blitz the kitchen I'm thinking that my little afternoon musing session was perhaps my biggest achievement, despite the fact that it achieved very little. In fact, nothing at all.
Well, perhaps a couple of new characters were formulated for my novel, and a few plot twists and turns. But thats it really - I don't spend enough time on this damn thing, and perhaps if I ever want to finish it and have it published, maybe I should really get cracking with it and spend all my spare minutes on it....
...well, it is still in planning stage at the moment, and when you're following the story of Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" with references all over the place, there is a hell of a lot of background work to be done. Not to mention the fact that one of the central characters is a 15 year old autistic psychic who only converses in Latin phrases...
But, these were my decisions. The first incarnation (lost when my old computer literally blew up) was well written, but nothing much happened, and I relied too much on obvious plot devices and twists. I'm now at a stage where I just want to get writing, but need to meticulously plan in and make sure all my references are sound.
Still, at least I've written the first page:
*******************************************************************************************************************************
It was just another day to tick off the calender. That was the initial thought when, once again, my peaceful sleep was rudely interrupted by the hustle and bustle of pre-rush hour traffic - the feisty delivery drivers jockeying for position on a double parked road getting in the way of the impatient trash collectors. For every "fuck you" there followed a "get a life". Streets of profanity, daily mundanity.
Just a facet of city life.
My eyes adjust to the dull glow of the street lamp shining through a tiny window that you wouldn't notice if you were to walk past it. That may have something to do with the fact that I live in a basement. Self contained and underground, that's me. Alex Nielsen, twenty-four years old, budding young novelist and totally alone in this apparently cruel world. Well, at least I am on this new day. Which wasn't the case the previous morning, as I knew I had a father then. Though God knows where he had been for 24 years.
The total ambivalence in my voice towards the news of his death must have come as quite a shock to the executor of his estate after he informed me of the $500,000 cheque that was being couriered to me. Fuck the half a million: one phone call, one letter, even an unanswered knock on the door would have made me feel wanted. My mother died in childbirth and my father obviously held that against me and gave me away for adoption. Except I wasn't wanted and I spent my formative years in various orphanages and homes earning a fragmented education, eventually ending up with an uncaring foster mother who took great pleasure in reminding me of my absent father.
And that's how it came to this. Right here, right now. Stunned into a self-contained silence, a bubble of quiet in a pocket of society that usually has a high association with noise. But today, time was standing still for everyone except me. A temporal schism in time whilst the pathways realigned and paradoxes were blanked out of existence for the greater good.
And no sooner than it had begun, it was over. Back to normal and flowing forward again. Crisis averted.....
.....and with that, the telephone broke the silence with its merciless ringing. So as not to prolong the cacophony any longer than was necessary, I lifted the receiver and ended the impertinent ringing.
"Hello?" I instantly questioned.
"Mr Stravinsky?" came the gruff response, "Am I speaking to a Mr Peter Stravinsky?"
Wrong number, but I hesitated and my turn in the conversation was missed.
"If I am speaking to Mr Stravinsky, I have an exclusive offer that I can only discuss with the aforementioned. Are you Mr Stravinsky?"
And for the second time in the last few minutes, time faulted, rewrote the code, and once again ebbed forward.
"Yes, I am Mr Stravinsky" I replied in garish monotone.
"Ah, excellent!" came the genuinely pleased response, "Let me introduce myself, I am Eric Thompson Carmichael and I represent 'Dreams By the Lake Inc.' We specialise in lakeside properties - small, large, holiday home or full time residential - anything you want, we can acquire for you, for a fee of course! But you already know all this Mr Stravinsky, as you filled in one of our forms last month expressing your desire for a large lakeside property with the potential to be converted into a hotel."
He paused to breathe and I could hear the gulp as he swallowed a liquid of some description. I let my imagination take over and pictured Eric Thompson Carmichael as a rotund 50-something with a whiskey induced redness in his cheeks. I held that image as he continued and reached for my own bottle of whiskey, though this was just a cheap no-mark brand that was more than likely two week old overspill from a slightly more expensive no-mark brand rather than the expensive oak matured scotch that I had imagined Mr Carmichael drinking with gleeful frivolity.
"I am phoning today Mr Stravinsky to inform you that we have recently acquired such a property which meets all of your desired criteria in the beautiful location of Echo Lake. I'll skip the specifics for now, but the price to you and to you alone is $350,000 with our finders and acquisition fee being $35,000. Now are you interested in this fantastic bargain Mr Stravinsky?"
I thought for no longer than a second and once again time stumbled as a seam was stitched back on, this time over a mere synaptic response.
"Very much so," was my instant and unfaltering reply.
"Excellent. This is a decision that you will not regret. This offer will remain valid for the next 7 days, so if you'd like to pop into my office on 4th Street before the 14th we can get all the finer details sorted out and this amazing property will be yours. Have a nice day Mr Stravinsky!" and before I could respond with the formal "You too", he was gone.
*********************************************************************************************************************************
And from there it will grow, eventually!!!!
Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy this bottle of vintage Claret....
To muse is to achieve, and as the only thing I managed to achieve today was to get up and blitz the kitchen I'm thinking that my little afternoon musing session was perhaps my biggest achievement, despite the fact that it achieved very little. In fact, nothing at all.
Well, perhaps a couple of new characters were formulated for my novel, and a few plot twists and turns. But thats it really - I don't spend enough time on this damn thing, and perhaps if I ever want to finish it and have it published, maybe I should really get cracking with it and spend all my spare minutes on it....
...well, it is still in planning stage at the moment, and when you're following the story of Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" with references all over the place, there is a hell of a lot of background work to be done. Not to mention the fact that one of the central characters is a 15 year old autistic psychic who only converses in Latin phrases...
But, these were my decisions. The first incarnation (lost when my old computer literally blew up) was well written, but nothing much happened, and I relied too much on obvious plot devices and twists. I'm now at a stage where I just want to get writing, but need to meticulously plan in and make sure all my references are sound.
Still, at least I've written the first page:
*******************************************************************************************************************************
It was just another day to tick off the calender. That was the initial thought when, once again, my peaceful sleep was rudely interrupted by the hustle and bustle of pre-rush hour traffic - the feisty delivery drivers jockeying for position on a double parked road getting in the way of the impatient trash collectors. For every "fuck you" there followed a "get a life". Streets of profanity, daily mundanity.
Just a facet of city life.
My eyes adjust to the dull glow of the street lamp shining through a tiny window that you wouldn't notice if you were to walk past it. That may have something to do with the fact that I live in a basement. Self contained and underground, that's me. Alex Nielsen, twenty-four years old, budding young novelist and totally alone in this apparently cruel world. Well, at least I am on this new day. Which wasn't the case the previous morning, as I knew I had a father then. Though God knows where he had been for 24 years.
The total ambivalence in my voice towards the news of his death must have come as quite a shock to the executor of his estate after he informed me of the $500,000 cheque that was being couriered to me. Fuck the half a million: one phone call, one letter, even an unanswered knock on the door would have made me feel wanted. My mother died in childbirth and my father obviously held that against me and gave me away for adoption. Except I wasn't wanted and I spent my formative years in various orphanages and homes earning a fragmented education, eventually ending up with an uncaring foster mother who took great pleasure in reminding me of my absent father.
And that's how it came to this. Right here, right now. Stunned into a self-contained silence, a bubble of quiet in a pocket of society that usually has a high association with noise. But today, time was standing still for everyone except me. A temporal schism in time whilst the pathways realigned and paradoxes were blanked out of existence for the greater good.
And no sooner than it had begun, it was over. Back to normal and flowing forward again. Crisis averted.....
.....and with that, the telephone broke the silence with its merciless ringing. So as not to prolong the cacophony any longer than was necessary, I lifted the receiver and ended the impertinent ringing.
"Hello?" I instantly questioned.
"Mr Stravinsky?" came the gruff response, "Am I speaking to a Mr Peter Stravinsky?"
Wrong number, but I hesitated and my turn in the conversation was missed.
"If I am speaking to Mr Stravinsky, I have an exclusive offer that I can only discuss with the aforementioned. Are you Mr Stravinsky?"
And for the second time in the last few minutes, time faulted, rewrote the code, and once again ebbed forward.
"Yes, I am Mr Stravinsky" I replied in garish monotone.
"Ah, excellent!" came the genuinely pleased response, "Let me introduce myself, I am Eric Thompson Carmichael and I represent 'Dreams By the Lake Inc.' We specialise in lakeside properties - small, large, holiday home or full time residential - anything you want, we can acquire for you, for a fee of course! But you already know all this Mr Stravinsky, as you filled in one of our forms last month expressing your desire for a large lakeside property with the potential to be converted into a hotel."
He paused to breathe and I could hear the gulp as he swallowed a liquid of some description. I let my imagination take over and pictured Eric Thompson Carmichael as a rotund 50-something with a whiskey induced redness in his cheeks. I held that image as he continued and reached for my own bottle of whiskey, though this was just a cheap no-mark brand that was more than likely two week old overspill from a slightly more expensive no-mark brand rather than the expensive oak matured scotch that I had imagined Mr Carmichael drinking with gleeful frivolity.
"I am phoning today Mr Stravinsky to inform you that we have recently acquired such a property which meets all of your desired criteria in the beautiful location of Echo Lake. I'll skip the specifics for now, but the price to you and to you alone is $350,000 with our finders and acquisition fee being $35,000. Now are you interested in this fantastic bargain Mr Stravinsky?"
I thought for no longer than a second and once again time stumbled as a seam was stitched back on, this time over a mere synaptic response.
"Very much so," was my instant and unfaltering reply.
"Excellent. This is a decision that you will not regret. This offer will remain valid for the next 7 days, so if you'd like to pop into my office on 4th Street before the 14th we can get all the finer details sorted out and this amazing property will be yours. Have a nice day Mr Stravinsky!" and before I could respond with the formal "You too", he was gone.
*********************************************************************************************************************************
And from there it will grow, eventually!!!!
Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy this bottle of vintage Claret....
savana:
we should be friends 
palcode:
it's good to see that you appreciate the good music, dude! 