The Days Amble Away Like Tame Sheep Down the Street

"Donating is like art, you know. It requires supreme efforts, and then the audience, y'know, completes the circuit... makes it whole." https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Martin-Palmer5

Photo take waaay before Sober for October started, dear readers.

The past few months have sped by, but I always suspected that this month would drag. I'm not blaming this phenomenon on lack of beer. It probably has more to do with the fact I'm dissecting everything on this blog :P If einmal ist keinmal, then blogging [perhaps all writing?] is surely everything, having been re-lived and [further] re-formed. Anyway, that's enough of that. What I originally wanted to talk about was the pace of life this October. It seems very slow. Not quite at the interminable point - yet - but worryingly draggy.

I remember how it often used to be. Drink sort of lubricated time. I don't want you to think I'm wishing my life away or anything, but at work, for example, the day used to go quicker after a couple of drinks the night before. Well, in general. Sometimes, if in pain, it could feel even longer, but that's mainly down to how busy you are. There's a chance I'm completely wrong, of course, but I feel it's true.

Without this liquid change of pace, the days feel like squares, rather than irregular chunks stretched this way and that by your perception. I'm sure for most people the squares are a good thing. And I'm not saying I think it's a bad thing for me, I'm just saying it's different. I can tell you that I'd like it a lot more if I had certain of my ducks in certain other rows [apologies for the ambiguity, but I'll leave it in]. I think this frustration I have is at the root of all of this introspection and, occasionally, the urge to crack open a great-tasting, momentarily refreshing beverage and feel its warming proof help release me a little. Ah what the hell am I on about... This amount of sobriety just feels a bit weird, is all.

I realise that some of the allure of alcohol's [perceived] time-bending powers is down to the lack of control I have in life. I don't mean that in a whiny, 'I Me Mine' way. As humans, none of us have that much control, and if we think we do, we're probably deluded. It's best to embrace this, but as a weak person, I still sometimes fall for cheap tricks. I used to think that my choice, and the results, were all factored in and fine, but didn't realise that a) wanting control is always going to lead to suffering [indeed, wanting to avoid the inevitable or change the impossible in general], especially since, as I pointed out before, this 'method' didn't always work for me, b) there are other effects to regular consumption [the risk of cancer, the general time and work it takes to get rid of toxins from the body, the money blah blah] and c) you can be more powerful if you use yourself, rather than a crutch, to get where you want. It's in this spirit that I've actually wondered if I ever might give up booze altogether.

I doubt it. You never know though. All things must pass, after all...

NaNoPrepMo

'NaNoPrepMo' is a term that the ever enthusiastic and inspirational writer Ava Jae likes to use, and so do I. It essentially means 'October, for those that have decided that they're doing NaNoWriMo'. Here are my current thoughts in PREParation for November's novel writing challenge:

So there's thirty days in November [you may already be aware...] which, if you want to hit the 50,000 word target, gives you a daily aim of 1,667. I was thinking about writing a different 'episode'/chapter every day, i.e. start a new one and, as long as it's natural enough to do so, finish it off on the same day. Obviously not going to limit myself to the wordcount, if I go over, I'll just see where the flow takes me. If I miss a day, of course I'll make up for 'the missing words' [although I suppose I do that every day anyway!]. I won't necessarily start two new episodes the next time, unless that's natural to what I'm doing. I'm not aiming for all the sections to necessarily be the same length, although it'll be interesting to see how 'regular' they are, seeing as how I've never tried such an intensive thing before.

On daily aims, I'll try not to take into account my going over. For example, if I reach 50,000 in two days [yeah, I know...], I'll still try and write 1,667 thereafter, but if I miss a day, I'll try and write 3,334 the next day to make up for it, if that makes sense. It's a 'no upper-limit' mentality, but a firm 'bottom line' [heehee, firm bottom...] will be ever present. I realise that this might amount more than the necessary amount of pressure, but that's what I'm aiming for at the mo.

My idea is a story about a university student  and how his first 'real relationship' changes him. I want to capture the Ham on Rye bull-charge feeling by relentlessly going from scene to scene [well, 'chapter to chapter' is more apt, but the way the chapters were in that novel felt very scene-like], hence why I'd like lots of shorter chapters. However, I won't be going completely linear. I want to experiment with, every now and again, saying 'wait, I forgot about the time that...' and see if that fits the narrative well. I suppose this may be something that will only really be done in editing [certainly it could only be evaluated in the editing process], but that's how this project has come to me, so so be it. I think rather than intentionally trying to do it, I might just see if the availability for such an opportunity naturally arises. I don't know if I'll have 'anchoring passages', i.e. a shared time/place/whatever where the narrator breaks up the progression [assuming there is any!], but again I think I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself, I'll have to see whether these thoughts find their opporunity, or whether they should be added later...

First person. Although, if I start to struggle with events being too close to 'real life' history, I might switch [as Helen Walsh was advised when writing Once Upon a Time in England, so she told us in a talk at Edge Hill], just to help the drafting. I hope I can keep going in the first person vein though, it's so explosive, so vital... And, 'at the end of the day', it's controversial. I don't mean, necessarily, in a social context, but in terms of the reader's individual experience, there are questions that you can have fun with posing [and, indeed, not answering] that, maybe, in third person, you might usually steer clear of.

I love the feel and possibilities of first person tho. A while ago, I turned my back on it because it was my preferred choice, and I was worried I was being 'one-trick pony-ish' and sort of un-literary [not that first person narratives can't be literary, but if an author only had one option, you may feel they weren't developed enough to be considered literary. Maybe... I dunno], so I'd like a chance to revisit it.

Okay, I think that's the flim-flam out the way. Now to come up with some chapter ideas...


And that's indeed what I did, coming up with, at the time of publishing, thirty-three 'chapter ideas'. I don't know what'll become of them all, or which new ones may pop up... I don't really know anything at this point, and it's doubtful whether I'll know any more in time. With that dispiriting finish, I bid you adieu. Good luck if you're NaNoWriMoing and, indeed, good luck if you're not!

Langwidge Pt. 2

This part's a bit more melancholic and also doesn't come with an apology. In the first part I was talking about literary translations and some of the problems surrounding the process (that I can see, anyway. Maybe you don't have any problems with anything... good for you). What I really wanted to talk about was stuff like the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis (which I'm trying to get clued-up on) and also talk about my language experiences (mainly an excuse to brag about decent GCSE grades :P ). So now that I've ruined all possible suspense, let's get cracking (don't worry, it won't take forever. Besides, there's always that little 'x' you could click in the... oh wait... no I already did that joke in the previous portion...).

Basically what I'm dealing with is a sense of mourning for my ability to speak different languages. I've had two years of Latin, two years of Spanish and five of French (since seven, five and five years respectively). Since then, my proficiency (if I can claim it so highly) has somewhat dwindled. I try and make up for it by using convoluted English words in everyday situations (I can't comment on how well that's going...), but it's not the same. I knew quite a lot about French, like how to speak in many tenses, talk about complex ideas (such as 'frogmen' - hommes grenouilles for those of you who are interested) and, much more importantly, I started to get a bit of confidence in being able to speak it. Where's all that now?

I chose not to do language at A Level. I'm not sure why. I chose subjects (like Physics) because I was interested in them, and wanted to get to know them better. But what I wish I'd have been told to look ahead to what I'd like to do with my life, rather than just what I'd like to do with the next couple of years. Physics, for me, has not only been 'too hard' but also had basically no impact on my life. Now all my French syntactical knowledge has withered, and alls I got is useless lexis (such as the word  for 'frogmen' - oh wait, I gone done that one already).

French was mandatory where I went to school from year one, but at GCSE we had to pick another (German, Spanish, Latin or Greek). I went for Spanish, as it's similar to Latin, but never took it that seriously. It was a lesson I had to go to, a qualification to get, and I didn't put as much effort in as with French. Now all I can think is, 'why did you waste that opportunity'?

At Edge Hill, my BA in English and Creative Writing involved language modules. They were richly varied, with elements of history, sociology and more, but in a sense there was too much variety and over the course of one module there wasn't enough depth in some ways (obviously they weren't designed to help you learn a language, but personally I felt a little directionless with all the slightly disparate elements that we looked at). Anyway, my point is that, again, I have a few nice nuggets of linguistic information, and I'm still interested in languages, but for the purposes of translation it wasn't so helpful (again, I'd like to stress that it was never meant to be helpful in such a way, and it WAS useful for many other things).

Now I'm in this place of desolation. I'd say it's a desert, but deserts can be beautiful. Things have withered and died and there's no turning back. It reminds me very much of Sujata Bhatt's 'Search For My Tongue' apart from the 'mother tongue' is not the 'problem', it's the other tongues (would they be called 'father tongues'? Surely not... sorry, I digress!). The tension that arises from not having a proper frame of reference for the mother tongue is the problem. How can I understand more than the (relatively) narrow sphere of English-speaking cultures without being FLUENT in another language? I've been getting very into American writers (Vonnegut, Bukowski, Kerouac) and yet what use is that for cultural diversification? Sure a lot of them are influenced by Eastern philosophies, but there's that voice at the back of my mind: if they've not communicated the original culture sufficiently then they are practically worthless. I wonder where I got that from?

Never mind, this isn't a blame game. This is a discussion (albeit one-sided :P ). Still not got onto Sapir-Whorf. Maybe next time. Thanks if you've  stuck around haha.

Goodnight. [Part 3]

Deliver This From Evil

Post Office, by Charles Bukowski, is kind of rough. If we were talking about resistant materials ('woodwork' if you prefer), it would be 'unfinished', that is to say 'not sanded down/polished' etc. Make no mistake, the book's a diamond - just not cut in the usual way ('usual' being a synonym for 'stale'). Take some of the non-standard spelling etc, the sort of 'satire' of conversation, the flitting nature and sometimes random elements with little coherence within the novel (Dave Janko's book, for example) This somehow gives a purity, a rawness and, above all, an energy to the writing.

The main character, Henry Chinaski, is awesome. I say that 'awesome' in the correct way - 'inspiring awe'. I stopped to wonder: is he a decent bloke? Do I hate him because of his sexism/disrespect? Is he a hero for not backing down against another wave of life's mundane tidal wave of crap? Is he a coward for relying too much on the bottle? Well, for those of you who like bland, general understatements, he's a flawed genius (much like the author).

And just to resolve the above 'conflict' a bit further, I think I do like HC. I sympathise with the 'underdog vs life' scenario. I 'get' his use of alcohol as a coping mechanism and somewhat admire his skills as a postman. The gambling and the sexism I mentally sweep under the carpet, as we all do with people we know.

So I really enjoyed the book overall. It was a really quick, easy read, but a lot 'went on' in the narrative. What's more the potency of the writing (like at the end of chapter ten, the summary of Betty's funeral - despite repeating a lot of detail - has this haiku-like punch to it), along with it's clever form (the variation in size of the paragraphs makes the reading, I dunno, more living. Like sometimes a short paragraph reflects a busy period for HC, so it mirrors the fact he doesn't have time to go into more detail), makes it something I'd recommend to almost anyone. For some people it'd be because I like them and appreciate that they like a good, entertaining read. For others, it'd be because they're Lilly-livered, vacuous, moronic, comfort-driven, mother-loving, nice-hot-water-bottle-on-a-mild-day-ing, innocent, modern-music-adoring, rom-com-watching (Sean of the Dead obviously excepted), baby-cuddling, unaware, greeting-card-faced, bubble-bath-drinking, salad-humping, button-nosed, vitamin-taking, tea-sniffing, nipple-grating, sock-washing, trend-following amoeba who need to be shaken up violently like the proverbial bird in its cage.

Oh how I love to shake caged birds... The thought of it gets me all... Ooh...

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