Tiredness strikes, and a stream of words is faltering through these fingers. Could it be that it's just too late in the day to be trying to extemporise? We'll see, we'll see. It's a fascinating time to be writing, in the wake of several job rejections and a birthday, and with whole new worlds to try and explore in the days to come. Research is picking up steam again, as motivation begins to build, and bids keep going in for translation projects without ever winning. Where does the future path lie? Teaching English abroad? Research? Endless dithering?
The future vistas never go away. That grand horizon of opportunity is always there, if you can keep your eyes upon it and not be swayed by the grim realities of everyday reality. Sometimes life is great, and serves up delights galore, but it also has this innate habit of bringing down your ambitions at every turn, and trying to kill that sense of wonder that drives us onward. The opportunities are always there, if you can only allow yourself to see them. Even on the deathbed, you might have to wonder at the vista of what might be there. We have no idea, none, of what that undiscovered country might be, and what vistas will be seen, if any. However, enough unnecessary talk about death, in this grand week of frozen summer sunshine.
Gosh, these words are difficult. A few days of article editing can be very disruptive as can determined solitude away from the things of man. Communication, and I've bored about this before, is a skill and one that needs to be exercised. That's what this is for, whether it's reviews, stories or simply blather. Today was all about reshelving books in the village library and doesn't lend itself well to prose in this frame of mind, and the short story 'Oneiromancy' is back on hiatus after being interrupted by innumerable things including a trip to Aberystwyth. Where is that story going? It's a mystery, in that finding a fitting ending is always difficult. Oh, that brings up something interesting about narrative structures and rules. I'll just clear my head for a moment.
Ahem.
People think that there have to be rules about being creative. Isn't that crazy? They think that you have to write books in chapters, or films in three or nine acts, or poems and short stories in a fixed pattern. Why do you think that is? Why are there so many rules about so many things? Why? In finding a way to finish a serial story satisfyingly, or any story, you really need to put all those rules away in a box and try to think in a new way. What new way? It's different for each person. Will I succeed in this case, or for 'The Glove', 'The Ninja Of Health' or even the eventual second phases of 'Triangles' and 'Wordspace'? Perhaps and perhaps not, but any failure will not be for wont of trying!
O.
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