Old notebooks and scraps of prose

September 29, 2006

Historically, when I feel the need to write, I buy a fresh notebook in the hopes the negative creative pressure from the blank pages will suck the writing from me. The end result of this is a lot of barely filled notebooks, with scraps of prose and break up poetry scattered throughout. Every once in while I like to revisit them and wax nostalgic; occasionally following up on some long abandoned promising beginning.

Since I am a hell of a guy, I going to let you folks come along on a walk down memory lane with me.

First up is one verse from a poem I wrote in late high school, when I had chronic insomnia.

A broken thought just trundled by

A twisted thing that once was mine

And now it’s cast a drift amidst within my madness

Fairly overwrought, and the line balance is off, but I really dig the world “Trundled”, and I think this the only time in my life I ever used it. I’m kind of pissed that I wasted it so early in my artistic development, you really can’t bust something like that out twice. Still that poem did help me woe a certain brown eyed redhead, a couple years later, so I suppose I got my monies worth.

I also wrote her an epic poem about Lancelot that I lost a long time ago.

The only bit of it I can remember goes as such:

Lancelot lay dreaming his honor torn apart.

His virtue lay unseemly twined about his ragged heart

Goddamn, I was smooth! Mind that was back in the day when my poorly tuned ironic sensibilities would let me get away with poetic wooing.

Next we have my first attempt at writing a novel; which latter became this short story. I got about ten hand written pages deep before I lost interest and decided I wanted to be a model (yes this actually happened, and no I didn’t follow through on the model thing either). I’ll spare you a blow by recounting and just lay out a few choice bits.

The first paragraph:

“It’s begins in all of us, something dies, something weakens. Each little birth kills the last; each little death thins the walls between.”

It’s goes down hill pretty quickly after that. The next few pages set the mood and build tension until the main character sees a monster.

This bit stands out as I use this odd dictionary interrupt that I would never consider these days. The delivery’s not terrible, but it trashed the flow of the rest of the paragraph it was in :

“Sinister is one word which somehow stands distinct from it’s brethren. A spiritually onomatopoeia of sorts, it’s radiates meaning like no other”.

After that it’s about five pages of rudderless rambling, until the last paragraph that trails off halfway through a sentence:

“I awoke with the mire of the gutter mingling with my blood, dirty swirls of crimson playing Rorschach games, before falling home to the sewer. He traced the seeping edges, gummed with street filth, there was no real sensation of pain. He tested the strength of the wound”

It’s not that bad, if you ignore the fact it only took one sentence to lose track of which tense I was writing in. I wound up ripping off the Rorschach line in the short story rewrite, so  it wasn’t a total waste of time.

And just to finish on a high note, the final selection is an aborted blank verse/prose mix I started writing a couple years back in the dying days of a troubled relationship. I actually think it’s fairly strong, but writing it was depressing the shit out of me, and by the time I picked it up again the feelings that inspired it were too fresh to mine and too cool to inspire.

Ashes tumbled from his mouth

“I guess it’s the end then?”

It was a good guess, an honest lie they could both grab a hold of.

“I suppose so” she allowed, a colloidal haze of who they’d been roughing her throat.

She bit her lip and let the moment die; her hair falling a thousand miles from his touch.

They smiled and went about their excuses, forgiving what they could and burying the rest.

All right, that is about enough self indulgent abuse of editorial power for one day.

Tonight I will work on some more fan friendly stuff; maybe the long promised third part to “Cartoon that confused and angered me” or some literary junkfood equivalent. See you round about, folks.

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5 Responses to “Old notebooks and scraps of prose”

  1. NotMike Says:

    Don’t forget: “Cartoons…” is a five-part series!

    You’re welcome!

  2. engtech Says:

    I think the Mikes are teaming up against you.


  3. “Don’t forget: “Cartoons…” is a five-part series!”

    Oh don’t worry, I got my business handled, propah!

  4. Mike Says:

    Any indication of collusion on the part of the Mikes is simply coincidence. Next you’ll be telling us as controlling intrests in Opec that’s we’re raising the price of crude to make profit. Pffft! This year I can’t even get my new Ferrari gold plated, that’s how little I’m making.

  5. Phoenix Says:

    Gotcha! So here is where you’re trundling with your old poems.. lol..
    Read this…
    http://risenphoenix.wordpress.com/2006/01/14/scrawls-from-a-buried-notebook/


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