Here in northern Colorado, a cold rain has fallen pretty much steadily for the last twenty-four hours. It teeters on snow without quite getting there yet, but perhaps tonight, the weather gurus say.
I chanced this morning upon this story about my friend Kelly Link and her continued success in the world of publishing, and of course giving her distinctive twist and vision to storytelling.
Having finished reading the Arthur Miller biography–and wanting American theatre to mount the intriguing later plays, so I can see them in the flesh, for the love of Christ!–that’s a common theme coming into my ken: Finding the right shape to best express this particular story’s flavor and skew.
Coincidentally, which means synchronistically, I was wondering what impact it might have upon a novel to use dramatic soliloquies. A scene limpeth along, or raceth rather, and a character, at just the right moment, "turns" and addresses the readers, no one else in the scene noticing a thing and the character as intimate with us as Hamlet or Iago.
Nothing may come of this.
But something might.
Plot ideas come and go. A biography of Bush glimmers like a tempting bauble, one which begins with this hellspawn’s birth, vividly imagined with all the trappings of demon summoning, Barbara writhing in pain and cursing her mate for his vile prickwork upon her.
But do I really want, as entertaining as it would be, to spend that much time with hateful Bush? Well, maybe.
Thus do glimmerings come and go, as I look for a place to light.