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Sat 7 Aug, 2004 04:10 pm
Hey, everyone:
I've posted this elsewhere on A2K, but I thought that I should post it here; not because I think that it's anywhere good, but because I've not posted anything of my own for some time.. Anyway:
I arrived in Paris at about five pm to-day. I had had to return to England to give a eulogy at a funeral of someone barely connected to me. I had the whole of Paris to choose from.
Naturally, I decided to go somewhere random. Amidst a few casual Parisians standing slack in the heat, and plenty of tourists chattering off syllable after syllable in harsh tongues, I went out from the dreaming yellow splendour of the Gare d'Austre, with its boggling murals splashed about on the Métro.
I let my finger dash gently over the grand carte de Paris that I had just got, stopping on Issy de Seine station. I sat back patiently in the relative uncomfort of the Métro chair, making out the art deco wallscapes and clambering adverts that brightened each stop.
By the time we had got to Issy, most had already gone. The station's in sharp contrast with the clashing colours that one sees whenever the Paris Metro is shown. One comes to an impressing green hut and a few walls, grafittied with laments about this and that.
By the side of the track, I saw an African saxophone player stooped in his own projected shadow. He held the instrument clumsily, but expertly, up to the bone-white sky and his lips blew out melancholy softly. I stopped for a minute, putting down my six bags near to my feet, and I looked toward him discreetly. He stopped playing. 'Desirez-vous boire quelquechose?', I asked. He reluctantly agreed, so I got overpriced orange juice and passed it into his deep hands. 'You're really quite good. Have you played the sax for long?', I queried. 'My uncle taught me some, I've had to rely on it; I'm over here to get some money to send back.' I looked nonchalantly; I had known lots about scams during my time abroad and at home. 'I play this all day, sometimes build if I'm lucky out by Bicetre, and then I do work in a service station out; but I get paid s___t.' He seemed sincere. He took an unsightly, but reasonable, gulp at the orange juice. 'Nothing to do back there but die. Nothing.' He saw a train coming the way again, and started playing. I adjusted my dress, gave money into his old hat, and walked towards the Gare's inside itself. I heard his music drift differently.
As I walked into the much-needed shade and towards adventure, his notes fell as loose poiniards onto the dusty ground, and each stall he made was a trip of the family he lost along the way.
Good enough drom, good enough
Yes, I happen to like a poetic style of prose, because I'm into imagery and symbolism. The other school of thought is to concentrate on realism. Well, I think both were captured here. If you already have 600 pages, wow, I'd like to see the finished product. Out of curiosity, how many drafts have you gone through so far?
I would say, just going on advice from people who know more about writing novels than I do, you probably have enough to expand the idea into a novel, and the experts suggest at least five drafts, but say that the first one....just let it all out, from the heart, then edit. Damn, you probably know all this already.
You should write a novel, you know, Cav... I would certainly plug it, though it probably wouldn't need it.
I wouldn't say that my travelling notes have much of any interest to anyone, apart from-- perhaps-- people interested deeply in my view of things, if there are many, like the people who buy poets' journals. Can you see a novel in it? -- All I can see are aimless notes about different places... but I still am trying to get it up to an acceptable level, just because I can't leave things unfinished..
Well, I have no desire to write a novel, but you...you have your travel notes. So, you already have setting and characters. If you need more characters, make them up. The hardest part is the tie-in. That's my major weakness with writing prose. Getting from A to B without rushing. I am and always have been a horrible note taker. From the notes however, comes the structure. So you have all these notes about different places, different situations, different people. How are they connected? If you haven't read it, I would highly suggest getting a copy of 'A Guide For the Perplexed' by Jonathan Levi. Despite some silliness, it's a wonderful weave of a story spanning the ages and the continents.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0679408932/002-1810235-7155230?v=glance
In case you want to know where the title comes from:
http://www.sacred-texts.com/jud/gfp/gfp.htm
I have plenty of other things too-- I have to translate a novel of my own back into English, as well as many other things--; but, although my style is to include lots of things in one book, like a big motif, I don't dare break them up as I do travelling notes.
There are plenty of characters; I spent about one-hundred pages describing just one lot of them, but I ended up disatisfied. They were so weird that they seemed unreal having transcribed their bizarre love triangles and discussions, and I ended up discarding most of that week completely. They're all related by me, in reality; but I can find some more interesting way of bridging them. I'll keep you posted. I don't think that travelling notes make great novels, that's the problem.
That sounds like my kind of story... I must get it. Are there many novels in particular whose structure you find brilliant?
Some, but my tastes tend towards the fringe when it comes to novels. They are just more interesting. I'll compile a list and post a few more weird ones. The Levi book is actually quite brilliant, and not 'fringy' in the traditional sense of the word, just unique.
At what point in your life did you decide to write novels dròm_et_rêve? Did you start when you were just a child?
When I was young I used to write little stories as well, but I have given that up the last few years. The last big thing I wrote was around the time of 9/11, in which I made this imaginary story what would happen when war broke out between the Western world and the Islamic world, and I wrote a huge story about how the Muslim population of Bosnia was decimated by Serbian forces backed by the so-called Western Alliance, but eventually the people in the West stood up against their governments and the mass killings ended. It was kind of creepy, because I started before 9/11 and I don't know how I came up with the idea. I do hope it will always be fictional.
By the way, the thing you posted here was very good!
Wow; that's prophetic... and it sounds brilliant (nightmarish, but brilliant.) You should try writing again; you should know by now what I feel about wasted talent ;D. Do you still have the story? I would love to read it.
Well point is that most it has been thrown away, and the rest is in Dutch
. It means a lot to hear that you liked it. I have written about 600 pages so far; the problem is that I don't find them good enough (yet)...
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