greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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easy to fall

There's not much to yesterday. I meant to continue Chapter Nine, but then Spooky and I spent an hour or so talking through the ending, how I thought it would go, how it might should go instead, and when we were done I had too many doubts to go right back to writing. Instead, we hauled twenty or so library books back to Emory, and I spent some time there making notes for the chapter, looking at possible outcomes, alternate futures, maybes, perhapses, and suchlike. Emmie and Soldier and the Daughter of the Four of Pentacles, Odd Wille and the Bailiff and Deacon, and What Happens Next. I think I've worked most of it out, though I'm sure I'm wrong about some of it and will be shown the error of my ways as I write. There's no map here, no way it must go, no obvious outcome. I have to trust whatever part of me does this, this writing. And it's always like this for me at the end of a novel. This late in the game, protagonists can die unexpectedly, salvation may arrive from the actions of "villains," the world may change entirely in the space a hundred words. Expectation and even intent can be my enemies. "Well, how's it gonna end?" someone can ask (an agent, an editor, a friend), and I can't say, because it hasn't happened yet. It only happens as I write it down, and I'm not much better at predicting the events of page 521 from page 434 than I would be at predicting the events of next Sunday from today.

For me, one of the most difficult parts of writing is creating the illusion of a carefully plotted book, of a grand master plan, when the only route I know to THE END revolves around an almost complete reliance on spontaneity. It can make for very trying (and tiring) days.

I also read Lovecraft's "Fungi from Yuggoth," "To Mistress Sophia Simple, Queen of the Cinema," and "To a Dreamer."

After the library, I stood on the little bridge that crosses a nearby creek, dropping dead leaves into the water far below. I spoke with Neil. I cooked dinner. I tried to speak with Poppy, but the lines seemed to be down again. Spooky and I watched a superbly disquieting French film, Les Revenants (it's also saddled with the awful American title, They Came Back). This film worked on so many different levels. It's a "zombie" film with not a drop of blood or a splat of gore. And it's one of the most brilliant examples of a story involving a paranormal phenomenon which completely resists any attempt at explaining that phenomenon that I can think of. The impossible events of the film unfold. You watch them. You never know why they happen. All the whys are beyond the scope of the film. Like the characters, you simply watch the events unfold. Resolution and explanation are so often the death of weird and supernatural fiction. What do the aliens want? How was that monster created? What was the killer's motive? How did those stones fall from the sky? Answer the question and kill the mystery, and the mystery is where the beauty and the horror reside. Anyway, Les Revenants is from 2004 and was directed by Robin Campillo, and you should see it. After the movie, nothing much. I found myself bored and restless when I should have been getting sleepy. I played Final Fantasy X-2 for a bit (working through it a second time now).

And today I need to write. So...just a quick reminder about the Wrong Things auction. All proceeds go the Poppy and Chris. Please bid. Your help is greatly appreciated.

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