This book is dedicated to the tremendous sum of people and animals who haveloaned themselves as characters in the past three years.
Result 00 of 00
00 results for result for
Chapter XIII for Along the Lines of Causerie
This is the character sketch of a bizarre writer obsessed with sketching characters. Plagued with a bad memory that forces him to keep a record of daily events, suddenly unemployed and being rushed into writing a…
This is the character sketch of a bizarre writer obsessed with sketching characters. Plagued with a bad memory that forces him to keep a record of daily events, suddenly unemployed and being rushed into writing a children's book by his publisher, Abe retreats into the vastly intricate depths of his imagination. His writing becomes more detached from reality as the story progresses, becoming clearly evident in his unabashed journal entries, which make up the majority of the book. The situations escalate when he begins to see ghosts and other spectral beings, encouraging him to stop writing -- stop remembering -- and start living a normal life. This only begins to happen when he gives in to the very theme he had been fighting against the entire story.
I am currently in the process of rewriting the story and putting it into a handwritten form. The plot is changing slightly-- I am including scenes that weren't included in the first draft, rewriting them, drawing sketches, et cetera.
The folds of my notebook are caught and stuck and my characters are real, really there. Bugs in and on the wood where I sit on the branch are taken aback, by surprise, my eyes watching with my hands writing. They might wonder what makes them so important, had they the minds to really wonder that sort of thing. And as I shift to let a line of ants pass, the branch takes them by surprise, sweeps over, one falls, then the rest, they probably die, and I'd apologize but I don't think I care. Having nothing better to write about, I'm sort of glad it happened.
I have, as of today, at high noon, over fifty pages written about bugs and painting and that's maybe a novella in itself. My plot is about windmills that don't work and fireworks that work too well and a carnival with a pest control problem and an exterminator afraid of bugs and an artist who thinks he's insane but really is not, he'd only like to be. I don't have a romantic interest and my publisher refuses to publish my story until I create a love interest. She told me bugs don't count. I'm considering turning it into a children's book and making all of the characters bugs, just in spite, just because I want to. The problem is I don't think I have retained the spirited creative vigor to argue with Elissa that I had with my first novel. And there's been this horrendous writer's block the past month that I can't seem to force aside. So even if it does go against my aesthetic judgement, it would at least be the easier route. My protagonist could find himself a gorgeous girl and I could either end the story with a marriage or the girl dying. Evoking emotion is what I'm paid to do.
I don't think all the ants died, they're squirming and probably angry. I wonder how long it took them to get up to this branch (I'm pretty high) and where exactly they were heading and why. I have no idea what they would want way up here where the birds are the keepers of. Unless they're suicidal, but there must be better ways to die and I don't think ants have the ability to contemplate the possible meaninglessness of their lives like humans can. The only reason I am here is because I'm bored with the ground and decided a new setting might help me with my writing as Elissa suggested. I'm not suicidal. And there's better ways to die, anyhow.
Instead of writing I find myself serene and quiet. Appreciating the imagery instead of worrying about stories. Maybe this is the only thing really worth writing about. Sunshine and green leaves, the tangle of branches and mellow sky beyond. Not plot but just setting.