So my home computer is out of commission. I fried my power supply. And when I say fry, I mean it literally. There was flames and smoke in the casing. So anyways, yeah, no WoW for me for a little while as the computer is in the shop. I'm also getting the last bit of upgrades done that I've wanted to do for a while (I'm just hoping that I didn't fry anything else. I haven't heard from the shop yet so who knows). What does this mean? This means I'm bored. Saturday I watched all three Netflix movies I had at home (I keep forgetting to mail those off). Jacob's Ladder, which Coyote made me rent and I've had sitting at home since 2004. I'm not kidding. I think Netflix thought I owned it by now. Day of the Triffids, which is the first movie I've watched that I've actually wanted to remake. Not a fan of remakes, though not to a Coyote level of hatred, and the movie itself wasn't bad, but I think if I remade it I could make it friggen awesome. And Local Hero, which I've seen before. I love that movie.
Anyways, what did I do last night without my home computer? I put the football game on mute, powered up my laptop and wrote. I worked on my Pebbleman story. I did something that wasn't exactly writing but made me feel good nonetheless. I made notes throughout the document as to what was going to happen where, and the whole thing has a structure. I simply have to fill in the notes. I wanted to do that because during the day I thought of a few small things that I wanted to get down but I couldn't tell exactly where they should go. Once I made the notes I got those little things in. Then I wrote an entire big section.
I like how it's turning out.
And to satisfy my paranoia I copied the document into a word file.
Holy FUCK is it long. Like most men, I'm obsessed with length (budum ching). I know it's juvenile, at this point I do believe a story is as long as it needs to be, but still, I feel better if something is longer because I feel I have put a good amount of work into it. I can cut the crap later on. But this story is getting looooooooooong. Joker, which I consider to be a fairly lengthy short story, is 10 Word pages long. Pebbleman is 23 pages, and with the notes I'd say I have a good third of the story to go, if not more. The weird thing is I never intended for it to get this long. I always planned on it being a short story, but it's turning into a novella. It still won't be a novel. But damn. I'd be worried that it's getting overlong but I feel like I'm putting in the bare minimum as it is.
I think once I get the a full first draft I'll release it to the prying eyes that want to see, and maybe force a couple of eyes that don't. I'LL EXPECT COMMENTS, BITCHES.
Anyways, another Les Barker poem. I love this one for one specific line, it makes me giggle. See if you can guess which one!
"Sex is Better Than Poetry"
Sometimes I wander down memory lane
Some things spring to mind straight away
Sex in a previous century's
More vivid than poetry today
I remember Helen and Julie was fun
And evenings with Evelyn were ace
But Shakespeare and Milton and Wordsworth and Donne
Disappear forever, no trace
Who here has been rendered ecstatic
By Betjemin, Byron or Scott?
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not
Words it was not, it was women
Who took those sweet years of my time
I never went down to the pub
To see if two sentences rhymed
Nights down dark lanes in the back seats of cars
Was it poetry that gave our hearts wings?
Was it poetry that steamed up the windows?
Was it poetry that tested the springs?
Did the thrill of iambic pentameter
Keep the fires of our passion red hot?
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not
Does my soul sing out for, say, Shelley?
No, his verses are just so much froth
Should we have more sex on the telly?
Yes, though I keep falling off
If you were alone in some far away place
And the evening was starting to drag
If you had to choose which one would you refuse
The Lady of Shallot or a shag?
By the latter, in clarification,
I did not mean a guillemot
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not
If poetry was better than sex
There'd be a torrent of spam sent upon it
"Make your limerick last half an hour"
"Add an extra four lines to your sonnet"
There's no "you are not long, fellow.
The opposite sex will not like you.
They want a man with a big soliloquy
And you've only got a haiku."
Are there emails, perhaps, from Nigerian chaps
Who would steal every poem you've got?
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not.
Have I passed long years of pure pleasure
In pursuit of the most perfect rhyme?
Oh no, that to me is no treasure
Procreation's been the thief of my time
And when I have something to say
A passion I need to express
Do I care overmuch about scansion and rhyme?
No.
What are words when two souls might be dancing
That sweet horizontal gavotte
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not
The Odyssey, The Illiad, in days far behind
Did I seek out girls who could quote 'em?
Is the way to my heart through the doors of mind?
No, like most men I'm led by the scrotum
I get quite confused when I see a handus(?)
To write verse whether rhyming or blank
Some other employment would bring more enjoyment
That's what I think, to be frank
The day that I'm cursed with a preference for verse
You can order my hearse on the spot
Is poetry better than sex?
No, it's bloody well not
| Posted by Coyote @ 09/25/2007 05:55 PM PDT |  | |
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