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Me babbling about writing and duende
Sep. 21st, 2008 10:00 amSince Esther Friesner is the GoH at Foolscap this year, I got a book of her short stories. The one I just read is a stylistic tribute to Federico Garcia Lorca, who sounded familiar, but didn't exist soundly in my knowledge base. Now that I've looked him up, a bunch of little things in that knowledge base suddenly tied together--Lorca's Novena, by The Pogues; the concept of duende*, which I'd heard of from a book on tango by Teo Morca which my work printed; other little things.
The story itself (about Lorca's murder) was dense and dreamlike and reminded me of the mystic poem one of my main characters in Green Night by the River writes.
October approaches, which means Nanowrimo prep. I'm cheating this year, as I often do, and finishing something I've already started--Green Night by the River. I spend October cramming my brain with inspirational stuff, and I think this year I'll be reading lots and lots of poetry, alchemical and mystic saints' visions. Did I mention alchemy? Lots and lots of alchemy. Oh, I'll finally read Dali's 50 Secrets of Master Craftsmanship all the way through! I may subject myself to The Naked Lunch.
All this to write a high fantasy about two countries going to war, and two families of necromancers duking it out.
I'm going to try to keep the mystic woowoo as grounded as possible (and relevant to the plot without degenerating into prophesy), but I plan on having a hell of a lot of fun with it. And hey, Nanowrimo will give me a great opportunity to throw in the disjointed bits I want.
*The other night, I dreamed there was a black bird over my shoulder in my bed. It was so real, I woke up with my heart pounding, and turned on the light to shoo the bird away. The bird is my death, my duende. When I think of duende, I think of that bird and the physical despair that opens a mineshaft into my soul.
The story itself (about Lorca's murder) was dense and dreamlike and reminded me of the mystic poem one of my main characters in Green Night by the River writes.
October approaches, which means Nanowrimo prep. I'm cheating this year, as I often do, and finishing something I've already started--Green Night by the River. I spend October cramming my brain with inspirational stuff, and I think this year I'll be reading lots and lots of poetry, alchemical and mystic saints' visions. Did I mention alchemy? Lots and lots of alchemy. Oh, I'll finally read Dali's 50 Secrets of Master Craftsmanship all the way through! I may subject myself to The Naked Lunch.
All this to write a high fantasy about two countries going to war, and two families of necromancers duking it out.
I'm going to try to keep the mystic woowoo as grounded as possible (and relevant to the plot without degenerating into prophesy), but I plan on having a hell of a lot of fun with it. And hey, Nanowrimo will give me a great opportunity to throw in the disjointed bits I want.
*The other night, I dreamed there was a black bird over my shoulder in my bed. It was so real, I woke up with my heart pounding, and turned on the light to shoo the bird away. The bird is my death, my duende. When I think of duende, I think of that bird and the physical despair that opens a mineshaft into my soul.
