Epistlizing

I'm about to up-end the bed over the tarp and smoosh the bookcase against it to keep it from falling (all ye interior decorators, look the other way, please ;P), but thought I'd take a second to check up a few things on the web before hand. And as I did, and ran my eye over this journal (written, admittedly, with a view to being read. There is only so much one will allow out publically), I realized that this very exercise of "blogging" may actually end up being helpful for The Sable Valentine.

Curious, is it not, the importance to which we attach the mundanities of the day: that darn shower curtain dilemma, what to do with the laundry, etc. And yet, how very *real* are those mundanities - not to mention necessary. They pop up between sentences, filling time and space, acting like the Dutch boy's fingers in the polite and social dam that is the letter or the journal which we write. (Curious, too, then the thought that all our pretenses are as strong as paper - and yet paper from what unbending tree?)

Just as curiously, around and within those pleasant mundanities lie deeper thoughts, first principles, the questionings of the world and our mind.... Or at least, so I (sometimes) write. Others, I've seen, hold no paper before their face, but burst and swell with passion - usually poorly written. Still others barely communicate at ALL.

It's simply marvellous to reveal the soul - or to not reveal it, which is its own revelation - via the word. (Indeed, via The Word is the only Revelation! ;) Dramatic narrative at its finest.

I'm looking forward - and dreading - writing TSV. It looks to be a weighty novel, both in content and in word count. Oy! Approx. the size of half of Elspeth - the first half of Elspeth, not Elspeth/Poityr. (It makes sense to me - another interesting thing about journalling - the use of strange references, "home signs." Anywho....)

Which means that it'll simply take longer to write than Niamh did, or potentially Gavron (Book I) will. But that Gavron simply *won't* be written! It keeps stalling itself, tangled in the mess of chapter one, while the Prologue sits quite contentedly finished, buffing its nails and pulling faces at the chapters yet unwritten. Stupid, fat, tricksy novels! Stupid, fat, tricksy Aiden - running off to Liadan rather than staying home with his wife. It'll be an interesting relationship to write - deeper and more difficult than Gavron/Rhianna - but right now ALL parties are being stubborn! Gah! Stupid, fat, tricksy characters.

I shall remove me to the neverending conquest of my room. To mundanities that (hopefully) send me rushing to a notebook to write down new ideas or scenes. To space...the final frontier...naw. To a fourth viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean? (Tempting, but I think I've supported my local pirate movie sufficiently for this week's quota. %) Although it was so FUN to see it last night with Jules and Jill - hadn't known Jill hadn't seen it before. She certainly knew when to squee! Loads o' fun - drinks round for everybody! Darn - the rum's gone.) To duty then. Avast.

Mood: Cheerful
Music: Pirates of the Caribbean, Sinbad the Sailor, & Sarah Brightman's Harem on rotation
Quote du jour: And when the night descends in silence, will you see the edge of time?