278. The False House. Stoddard.
Setting, misunderstanding, fear, physical action, sympathy, fear, physical action.
Setting, physical description, very light philosophical dialogue, setting, philosophical dialogue, surprise/betrayal, action, fear, philosophical dialogue, physical action.
Physical action, etc.
(Ideally these things are a seamless mix. Setting described within the action making it more real, etc.)
302.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Plot, characters, setting.
Wanted a fantasy setting. And pretty realistic charaters. And plot hardly matters. Any old plot should do. Just take someone else's, more or less. Had long ago thought of writing 5 stories which each had the same plot but yet, were completely utterly different, but that's probably taking the idea too extreme and belies my actual writing ignorance, maybe.
But anyway, on characters and setting, why would I want such escapism combined with such realism? And furthermore, characters in captivating fiction are almost always fantasy. But for it to not just be meaningless they have to have something real about them. Art is the lie which brings us closer to the truth. The dialogue, the characters in general, a lie which is not irrelevant to the real world, a lie which brings us closer to the truth.
Generally though, characters in successful (popular) books are irrelevant to reality. The more relevant they get, the more reading the work is usually just a chore.
Wanted a fantasy setting. And pretty realistic charaters. And plot hardly matters. Any old plot should do. Just take someone else's, more or less. Had long ago thought of writing 5 stories which each had the same plot but yet, were completely utterly different, but that's probably taking the idea too extreme and belies my actual writing ignorance, maybe.
But anyway, on characters and setting, why would I want such escapism combined with such realism? And furthermore, characters in captivating fiction are almost always fantasy. But for it to not just be meaningless they have to have something real about them. Art is the lie which brings us closer to the truth. The dialogue, the characters in general, a lie which is not irrelevant to the real world, a lie which brings us closer to the truth.
Generally though, characters in successful (popular) books are irrelevant to reality. The more relevant they get, the more reading the work is usually just a chore.
The degree of relevance of your dreams correlates to your happiness/mental 'health'. If can go home and immediately dream about something that had happened at work just that day, you're doing excellent. If you never have dreams about work, you're not doing so well. If your dreams are always just complete gibberish, you're hanging on to life by a very thin thread.
The above seems generally true to me although not perfectly so.
I dreamt about something related to what happened at work today for the first time ever. Not quite the first time I ever dreamt about work, but in 4 years at this particular job, pretty close. I came home the most relaxed and in a positive mood that I've been about my work.
I've still never had even one single dream about any of my previous jobs, that I can remember.
Was very happy today for many reasons, positive talk with boss perhaps mostly, few other odds in and ends perhaps played a role:
a person I found strangely, incredibly attractive,
physically surprisingly good today and more and more, maybe because of removing caffeine and chocolate from my diet???, taking a children's chewable multivitamin???
stayed over at work and soaked in the sunrise,
and got out of taking report from maleovent(sp) nut case at work who simply didn't show up, a person who slanders me behind my back, etc,
planted two large trees in yard last night.
The above seems generally true to me although not perfectly so.
I dreamt about something related to what happened at work today for the first time ever. Not quite the first time I ever dreamt about work, but in 4 years at this particular job, pretty close. I came home the most relaxed and in a positive mood that I've been about my work.
I've still never had even one single dream about any of my previous jobs, that I can remember.
Was very happy today for many reasons, positive talk with boss perhaps mostly, few other odds in and ends perhaps played a role:
a person I found strangely, incredibly attractive,
physically surprisingly good today and more and more, maybe because of removing caffeine and chocolate from my diet???, taking a children's chewable multivitamin???
stayed over at work and soaked in the sunrise,
and got out of taking report from maleovent(sp) nut case at work who simply didn't show up, a person who slanders me behind my back, etc,
planted two large trees in yard last night.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Part of what's so great about cats is that they don't speak, thus there is an unknown, a mystery, a something that we can fill with good things, I think. But maybe not. But anyway, this is to say that love of cats is tied into love of magic. Because that's what the unknown is, the benevolent unknown anyway, which a cuddly cat is, cuddly thus benevolent, mostly mute and thus forever unknown. It's the suggestion of magic.
Never use the word 'magic' or 'mystery' in fantasy fiction. In general don't spell things out so clearly. Realizing that you're baldly contemplating magic can ruin the enjoyment of such contemplations.
-
I hate dialogue. But worse I hate when characters first meet. There is virtually no realistic real life correlary. Read world first meetings are virtually always (99.99%) way too boring to ever read about. The alternative is that it just can't be realistic. So then, usually, characters have already met. And such first meeting is not written about.
...And if it's a story of a person going to another world where he doesn't know anyone....? Then what, he just forever wanders in isolation?
First meetings just can't be very realistic, I guess. Although this is problematic, I want a sort of extreme realism with regards to piercing the obscurity of the minute processes of human life, yet still want it to be entertaining and... bearable. Realistic first meetings... don't bother with the dialogue... just sum up what's actually going on perhaps...
Finally, to be realistic: We go through life almost completely alone. In decades we accumulate a few real friends and otherwise have temporary convenient aquaintances.
...so it must be convenient aquaintances, if one actually wanted to adhere to the idea of piercing the obscurity of the minute processes of human life. If one could stand to... No other way to be real and not boring I think.
Perhaps instead mess with being unreal here and there.
Additional problem with one person alone in another world, when first meeting people is if one is being realistic, he has absolutely no clue what the social norms are in said world and would mainly just be hesitant and again mired in boring stuff if one were to be realistic.
The escapist man-traveling-to-another-world-idea just doesn't work so well with realism, of course. (Well, it could.) Best solution is he is from the other world. And does at least know the customs somewhat.
He's from the other world, just in a new area, finally on his own. Next needs to have some common goal which causes temporary convenient aquaintances. The best thing to bring people together is some common enemy. (Invented here much like the women at work are constantly inventing enemies to slander in order to bring theirselves together.)
Slight variant on the same story told over and over. Common enemy brings people together.
Never use the word 'magic' or 'mystery' in fantasy fiction. In general don't spell things out so clearly. Realizing that you're baldly contemplating magic can ruin the enjoyment of such contemplations.
-
I hate dialogue. But worse I hate when characters first meet. There is virtually no realistic real life correlary. Read world first meetings are virtually always (99.99%) way too boring to ever read about. The alternative is that it just can't be realistic. So then, usually, characters have already met. And such first meeting is not written about.
...And if it's a story of a person going to another world where he doesn't know anyone....? Then what, he just forever wanders in isolation?
First meetings just can't be very realistic, I guess. Although this is problematic, I want a sort of extreme realism with regards to piercing the obscurity of the minute processes of human life, yet still want it to be entertaining and... bearable. Realistic first meetings... don't bother with the dialogue... just sum up what's actually going on perhaps...
Finally, to be realistic: We go through life almost completely alone. In decades we accumulate a few real friends and otherwise have temporary convenient aquaintances.
...so it must be convenient aquaintances, if one actually wanted to adhere to the idea of piercing the obscurity of the minute processes of human life. If one could stand to... No other way to be real and not boring I think.
Perhaps instead mess with being unreal here and there.
Additional problem with one person alone in another world, when first meeting people is if one is being realistic, he has absolutely no clue what the social norms are in said world and would mainly just be hesitant and again mired in boring stuff if one were to be realistic.
The escapist man-traveling-to-another-world-idea just doesn't work so well with realism, of course. (Well, it could.) Best solution is he is from the other world. And does at least know the customs somewhat.
He's from the other world, just in a new area, finally on his own. Next needs to have some common goal which causes temporary convenient aquaintances. The best thing to bring people together is some common enemy. (Invented here much like the women at work are constantly inventing enemies to slander in order to bring theirselves together.)
Slight variant on the same story told over and over. Common enemy brings people together.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
You can't want fame. You have to just enjoy whatever it is you're doing.
You can't want recognition. You must just do it because you enjoy it and it's a good thing to be doing.
Negative reinforcement and positive reinforcement both reduce motivation, or so I read in Irrationality by Stuart...
You have to enjoy it. You can't want to just successfully make something passable. You have to make something you enjoy making.
Can't want to reach a certain level and have your eyes focused on that. Have to enjoy right now. No willpower. Never works for long anyway. But, whether or not one could eventually go from willpower to enjoyment, it's just WRONG during the willpower stage. Perhaps if it leads eventually to immediate long term enjoyment. But, should be understood it's not the permanent stage. It's not willpower, willpower-fame. It's enjoyment, enjoyment-enjoyment.
It has to be about Right Now.
"to pierce the obscurity of the minute processes at the center of human life." At each moment. Right now. No just getting to the next point. No random pointlessness.
But of the random, the endless random which permeates all, all creativity and everything else, there can good. I say 'random pointlessness' and to avoid it, as opposed to random pointfullness and the possibility that it's somewhat worthwhile, here in this world were it may seem as if it's no longer too late, but really it was always already too late. And so the enjoyment of the sound of the cello, out of tune, wavering notes. And the randomness of the story. The endless paths, some worse than others, never the perfect path taken, always some degree of mistake as one travels the randomness. But not pointless. The simple enjoyment of the tones good and bad, parts of the story less and more worthwhile, in this world where it's always already too late. No time but for myopic simple pleasures.
Mostly though just sick of my voice, or this voice anyway, yet still want to write.
You can't want recognition. You must just do it because you enjoy it and it's a good thing to be doing.
Negative reinforcement and positive reinforcement both reduce motivation, or so I read in Irrationality by Stuart...
You have to enjoy it. You can't want to just successfully make something passable. You have to make something you enjoy making.
Can't want to reach a certain level and have your eyes focused on that. Have to enjoy right now. No willpower. Never works for long anyway. But, whether or not one could eventually go from willpower to enjoyment, it's just WRONG during the willpower stage. Perhaps if it leads eventually to immediate long term enjoyment. But, should be understood it's not the permanent stage. It's not willpower, willpower-fame. It's enjoyment, enjoyment-enjoyment.
It has to be about Right Now.
"to pierce the obscurity of the minute processes at the center of human life." At each moment. Right now. No just getting to the next point. No random pointlessness.
But of the random, the endless random which permeates all, all creativity and everything else, there can good. I say 'random pointlessness' and to avoid it, as opposed to random pointfullness and the possibility that it's somewhat worthwhile, here in this world were it may seem as if it's no longer too late, but really it was always already too late. And so the enjoyment of the sound of the cello, out of tune, wavering notes. And the randomness of the story. The endless paths, some worse than others, never the perfect path taken, always some degree of mistake as one travels the randomness. But not pointless. The simple enjoyment of the tones good and bad, parts of the story less and more worthwhile, in this world where it's always already too late. No time but for myopic simple pleasures.
Mostly though just sick of my voice, or this voice anyway, yet still want to write.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Because I'm stupid I broke a string on my cello. (Not quite the same as breaking a guitar string...) A part of me felt like god is against me. That everything good will always be taken from me. That this broken string is the same as endless negative things that have happened in the past.
Should be a word for that. For over-reacting in such a fashion because one is actually angry at god. But there is no such word. And therefore I think people do this sort of thing all the time without realizing what's going on within them.
This negative thing, triggers negative memories and negative futures cascade down on me. My cello teacher is going to drop me because I'm so stupid/careless I broke a string just trying to tune my cello. And then I'll be forever locked out of the local community orchestra. And my cello playing will become this bitter endeavor. Years and thousands of hours spent playing in isolation. Becoming a great cellist. In isolation.
Slowly figuring out everything on my own. Doing it the extremely hard way. Being not as good as I'd otherwise be.
Always the same. Shunned. Never getting a fair chance. Never having a chance. Ever. Because god is against me.
Some of my recent happiness has probably been based on just accepting this. But then, I forgot. And I'm back to being angry, because I think I can do something, that there is some entity for which my anger isn't futile/counter-productive.
It is ridiculous. I know it immediately and always, but the path is so ingrained. The artist's path. All is symbols. Everything has meaning. I matter. Gods exist. I exist in their eyes. They bother to stand against me for a reason. Some ...unknown reason. And I bother to get angry. The same as pretty much everyone else.
You stub your toe and curse in anger for the same reason.
So persuasive that as my wife tries to console me, I turn away from her, I snap at her. "just leave me alone for now!" Because I can't quite turn away from this path. My beautiful cello. I'm an idiot. (some) God hates me. (God made me idiot?)
This is a real archetypal(?) story. Too ...??? to ignore it. To ....??? to not follow it's path at least a little.
...and also I finished the two (captivating) books I was reading. And sitting here in a malaise. Crappy TV and the vast internet wasteland. Was happier when I thought I would soon die. Supposedly the heart issue isn't too serious though.
...with dying all stress can go away. No longer have to worry so much about the stuff of this world. Don't have to worry about how I'm spending my life. Because it's about done, too late now anyway.
But now, it's no longer too late. And this was a poorly spent day. Both in reflecting after the fact and during.
Should be a word for that. For over-reacting in such a fashion because one is actually angry at god. But there is no such word. And therefore I think people do this sort of thing all the time without realizing what's going on within them.
This negative thing, triggers negative memories and negative futures cascade down on me. My cello teacher is going to drop me because I'm so stupid/careless I broke a string just trying to tune my cello. And then I'll be forever locked out of the local community orchestra. And my cello playing will become this bitter endeavor. Years and thousands of hours spent playing in isolation. Becoming a great cellist. In isolation.
Slowly figuring out everything on my own. Doing it the extremely hard way. Being not as good as I'd otherwise be.
Always the same. Shunned. Never getting a fair chance. Never having a chance. Ever. Because god is against me.
Some of my recent happiness has probably been based on just accepting this. But then, I forgot. And I'm back to being angry, because I think I can do something, that there is some entity for which my anger isn't futile/counter-productive.
It is ridiculous. I know it immediately and always, but the path is so ingrained. The artist's path. All is symbols. Everything has meaning. I matter. Gods exist. I exist in their eyes. They bother to stand against me for a reason. Some ...unknown reason. And I bother to get angry. The same as pretty much everyone else.
You stub your toe and curse in anger for the same reason.
So persuasive that as my wife tries to console me, I turn away from her, I snap at her. "just leave me alone for now!" Because I can't quite turn away from this path. My beautiful cello. I'm an idiot. (some) God hates me. (God made me idiot?)
This is a real archetypal(?) story. Too ...??? to ignore it. To ....??? to not follow it's path at least a little.
...and also I finished the two (captivating) books I was reading. And sitting here in a malaise. Crappy TV and the vast internet wasteland. Was happier when I thought I would soon die. Supposedly the heart issue isn't too serious though.
...with dying all stress can go away. No longer have to worry so much about the stuff of this world. Don't have to worry about how I'm spending my life. Because it's about done, too late now anyway.
But now, it's no longer too late. And this was a poorly spent day. Both in reflecting after the fact and during.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I voted for Mollohan and tried to imagine how in the world anyone could possibly vote for Oliverio. I couldn't imagine how. So I tortured myself with reading the first 240 comments to this article. How scary. Should mentally retarded people be allowed to vote? My hope would at least be that they wouldn't figure out how to.
How do they type?
I might as well ponder the holocaust as read such comments. Because such stupidity as that will sooner or later work it's way back around to exactly that. In my own private life, (if I survive long enough) these stupids will eventually do something horrible to me. (Yet again.)
Need something to sooth me...
And threw together a song:
Realized learning the cello means I can also kind of play the guitar. Also a live trumpet sounds great with distortion.
Oi vey, oi vey.
A young naive Kundera making the mistake of doing an interview.
The language doesn't even matter.
My god what a smart fellow Vance was (is). aaahhhh. Contradiction though he seems to be making. To stupidity is pain and suffering. Move away from it.
What a wonderful thing to HEAR an intelligent voice.
Never listened to any of these men speak before right now for exactly the sort of reason Vance talks of.
...I first read basically everything by Vance and gave it 5 years to digest. And all 13 books of Kundera's with a year to digest. Hate seeing a picture of the author on the back of a book. Used to tape a piece of paper over it while making sure to not see it. Same idea with hearing their voice.
...
I want exacly that. To plant bamboo in the yard. (Wife won't let me. "It'll grow out of control!!!") And to build another pond. I do imagine the fish will some day flop gasping on the empty bottom though.
Look at the man killing weeds with his chemicals... ("It'll grow out of control!!!")
My goldfish were tame. When we sold the house the new owner filled in the pond because he was worried someone would drown in it and sue. Evil, evil, evil man.
Slightly effiminate as opposed to the tough guy attitude throughout his stories.
How do they type?
I might as well ponder the holocaust as read such comments. Because such stupidity as that will sooner or later work it's way back around to exactly that. In my own private life, (if I survive long enough) these stupids will eventually do something horrible to me. (Yet again.)
Need something to sooth me...
And threw together a song:
Realized learning the cello means I can also kind of play the guitar. Also a live trumpet sounds great with distortion.
Oi vey, oi vey.
A young naive Kundera making the mistake of doing an interview.
The language doesn't even matter.
My god what a smart fellow Vance was (is). aaahhhh. Contradiction though he seems to be making. To stupidity is pain and suffering. Move away from it.
What a wonderful thing to HEAR an intelligent voice.
Never listened to any of these men speak before right now for exactly the sort of reason Vance talks of.
...I first read basically everything by Vance and gave it 5 years to digest. And all 13 books of Kundera's with a year to digest. Hate seeing a picture of the author on the back of a book. Used to tape a piece of paper over it while making sure to not see it. Same idea with hearing their voice.
...
I want exacly that. To plant bamboo in the yard. (Wife won't let me. "It'll grow out of control!!!") And to build another pond. I do imagine the fish will some day flop gasping on the empty bottom though.
Look at the man killing weeds with his chemicals... ("It'll grow out of control!!!")
My goldfish were tame. When we sold the house the new owner filled in the pond because he was worried someone would drown in it and sue. Evil, evil, evil man.
Slightly effiminate as opposed to the tough guy attitude throughout his stories.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Still no results back from 48 hour heart monitor. Trying hard to not think about the future as doesn't look good even excluding haunting grand expectations. Today was curious again about hardware versus software in music, how much it matters. So did a cover of Metro by Berlin with software, as opposed to the old analog synths they're using which no one even makes anymore I don't think, didn't try very hard to select really good sounds. I don't know the answer though.
And that's what I do, possibly on the edge of death? At home recording a song like that? Is it not better to burn out than fade away?
It would be incredibly inconsiderate for a married person to burn out anyway. And anyway, I think my philosophy has taken me to the point of recording drunk half chipmunks when the end is nigh.
Cello is so relaxing in part because it's not just about sound. Every moment one must be so careful about their movements, so delicate, I suppose same must apply to an extent with other instruments, but so much more with cello. Such that a huge part of the enjoyment is the attentiveness to making every movement perfect at all times. Always just the right amount of pressure, always the perfect angle, if not, it will sound like crap. I end up so soothed. And the sound... I end up enjoying just playing scales, something that I definitely did not enjoy on the piano. And movement was never a concern with trumpet, which I got back out the other day also. Numb lips and saliva as I remember. And no ballet-like constant concern with movement.
Next up, try to learn Gorecki's Symphony of Sorrowful songs.
Part I really want to play is before this and not on youtube.
The cello though... so much more than playing a given note at the right time and right volume. Piano is simplistic in comparison. (except that you can play so many more notes at once). It's like picking out the one safe path through danger. Each moment so many things must be done correctly. And if done correctly, beautiful sound continues. Trance-like state almost ensues.
And that's what I do, possibly on the edge of death? At home recording a song like that? Is it not better to burn out than fade away?
It would be incredibly inconsiderate for a married person to burn out anyway. And anyway, I think my philosophy has taken me to the point of recording drunk half chipmunks when the end is nigh.
Cello is so relaxing in part because it's not just about sound. Every moment one must be so careful about their movements, so delicate, I suppose same must apply to an extent with other instruments, but so much more with cello. Such that a huge part of the enjoyment is the attentiveness to making every movement perfect at all times. Always just the right amount of pressure, always the perfect angle, if not, it will sound like crap. I end up so soothed. And the sound... I end up enjoying just playing scales, something that I definitely did not enjoy on the piano. And movement was never a concern with trumpet, which I got back out the other day also. Numb lips and saliva as I remember. And no ballet-like constant concern with movement.
Next up, try to learn Gorecki's Symphony of Sorrowful songs.
Part I really want to play is before this and not on youtube.
The cello though... so much more than playing a given note at the right time and right volume. Piano is simplistic in comparison. (except that you can play so many more notes at once). It's like picking out the one safe path through danger. Each moment so many things must be done correctly. And if done correctly, beautiful sound continues. Trance-like state almost ensues.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents." Lovecraft
"..the time of ultimate correlation is nigh—a time when, by piecing together the fragments of “dissociated knowledge” produced by the sciences, we will be thrust from that island into a vista of infinite reality that will so thoroughly eviscerate human meaning and purpose that we will go insane or flee.."
Monday, May 3, 2010
Can't be bothered to find the paper I wrote on... But when this life is no longer the grand stage, when this life is not The Place and instead just some time killed at the airport, when this life isn't The Life. When there really isn't any Grand Party that is being missed, when nothing Really Matters.... then death isn't so particularly bad. And then one is more able to enjoy time spent enjoying simple things. And one doesn't have such a Hypertrophied Soul...
Having an irregular heart beat. Wearing a heart monitor for 48 hours currently. I feel OK but can feel my heart doing ...stuff.
Normally if one meets 100 people and 99 are good but the last punches you in the face, one must focus on that one negative experience disproportionately. But when one has accepted their impending death this isn't the case so much anymore. When such harms the evil person can cause don't matter so much anymore... then one can instead find themselves focusing on the 99 good people. With the acceptance of death one can so better see what beauty (simple though it may be) this life had. The ugliness can thankfully be finally forgotten.
Perhaps this is to say that fear is lost. One is no longer wincing in anticipation of the death blow, or the next catastrophe, nor instead yearning in dissatisfaction for some grand dream for that matter. Just happy enough, right here.
The above has two parts. The first part makes death not so bad. The second part is where death makes (what is left of) life not so bad. The second part though is conditional I suppose on having an impending death where one isn't in much pain... And thus I suppose where the reality of the death maybe isn't too terribly real. Might all disappear, forgotten, in a moment with real pain of course.
"There is no pain in the stone, but there is pain in the fear of the stone. God is the pain of the fear of death. He who overcomes pain and fear will himself become God...." Dostoevsky-Demons, pg 117...
Having an irregular heart beat. Wearing a heart monitor for 48 hours currently. I feel OK but can feel my heart doing ...stuff.
Normally if one meets 100 people and 99 are good but the last punches you in the face, one must focus on that one negative experience disproportionately. But when one has accepted their impending death this isn't the case so much anymore. When such harms the evil person can cause don't matter so much anymore... then one can instead find themselves focusing on the 99 good people. With the acceptance of death one can so better see what beauty (simple though it may be) this life had. The ugliness can thankfully be finally forgotten.
Perhaps this is to say that fear is lost. One is no longer wincing in anticipation of the death blow, or the next catastrophe, nor instead yearning in dissatisfaction for some grand dream for that matter. Just happy enough, right here.
The above has two parts. The first part makes death not so bad. The second part is where death makes (what is left of) life not so bad. The second part though is conditional I suppose on having an impending death where one isn't in much pain... And thus I suppose where the reality of the death maybe isn't too terribly real. Might all disappear, forgotten, in a moment with real pain of course.
"There is no pain in the stone, but there is pain in the fear of the stone. God is the pain of the fear of death. He who overcomes pain and fear will himself become God...." Dostoevsky-Demons, pg 117...
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