As a writer, I fly solo. That’s kinda the name of the game. The decisions made are mine and mine alone. It’s me and the keyboard, my imagination, and whatever command of language I happen to have at the time. If I want to adjust point of view, setting, character, or anything else, I can do it and not have to answer to anyone.
The only reason I’m up right now writing a blog post is because I’m stupid. Yes, I’m whining. And yes, I’m whining about a challenge I set for myself not even a week ago. I’m complaining about the blog-a-day challenge. This whole post right here – the one you’re reading/skimming over – is written only because I said I do it and I can’t wimp out on the seventh day of the New Year.
I’m soooo sleepy at the moment. This is the first night ever where I almost fell asleep at the wheel. Really, the only thing that kept me awake was the thought: I still have to write a blog post. I’m stupid.
So, there you are. Voila! A blog post. A post about posting. It’s all very meta. Now I’m going to sleep.
I love Snow Patrol and I about worship this song.
While this book is definitely short and you can read it in one day without any serious effort…I don’t recommend trying to finish in one day. When it says “Stories for Nighttime” it means it. These are like small, modern little fairy tales and you need a second to digest each one or they all start to blur together in one heap of endless: person obsesses about object to the detriment/benefit of person’s life.
The stories themselves are sometimes sweet, sometimes creepy, and sometimes both at the same time. There are some unique, impactful images throughout.
My only real issue with this collection is a strange one and might not make sense at first.
It’s the way the story looks on the page.
Loory uses a lot of white space. White space tends to pick up the pace of a story — after all, the amount of words on a page can be used to determine how long you’re gonna spend reading it. More words = more time. Less words = less time. At least, that’s the general formula I use.
However, the white space used in these stories is more akin to how white space is used in poetry. White space in poetry = you’re pausing a lot and slowing way down.
Here’s an excerpt from “The Book” which is the opening story from Stories as spaced by Loory (and as can closely be approximated by Blogger formatting):
The woman becomes famous for opposing the book. She even writes a book of her own. Her book cries out for the destruction of the first book.
In answer, the first book’s sales jump.
The woman is frantic. She doesn’t know what to do. She feels like she’s going insane.
And then one day on the street, a man comes up and spits in the woman’s face.
The woman stands there — shocked paralyzed. She hadn’t realized everyone hated her. She turns and runs sobbing all the way home. She locks the door and collapses on the floor.
She crawls into the bedroom on her hands and knees and hides under the blankets.
She huddles in the darkness all night long, her hands over her eyes, crying.
All of the stories are organized and broken this way.
The way the sentences break off into their own paragraphs and the amount of space between paragraph-length sections make me think more of poetry than prose…and, unfortunately, it makes me think of weak poetry because the images don’t oppose each other as much as line breaks are designed to do — the sentences are just a continuation of the same thought without anything surprising in it.
And it occurs to me that I would enjoy the stories more, if the paragraph sections were smashed together prose-poetry like. Then it reads dreamy. Now, I know reviews should not actually rewrite stuff, but I think offering a contrasting structure illustrates my odd, perhaps singular frustration with this collection (no words have been changed, only spacing and indention):
The woman becomes famous for opposing the book. She even writes a book of her own. Her book cries out for the destruction of the first book. In answer, the first book’s sales jump. The woman is frantic. She doesn’t know what to do. She feels like she’s going insane. And then one day on the street a man comes up and spits in the woman’s face.
The woman stands there — shocked, paralyzed. She hadn’t realized everyone hated her. She turns and runs sobbing all the way home. She locks the door and collapses on the floor. She crawls into the bedroom on her hands and knees and hides underneath the blankets. She huddles in the darkness all night long, her hands over her eyes, crying.
What happens there is I, as the reader, get to find what is meaningful, rather than having line/sentences that try to emphasize it for me. As is, it’s sort of like having italics telling you how to read a word. Sometimes it’s okay. Doing it every time makes it lose it’s impact. After a while, the stories felt monotonous to me.
So I highly recommend taking this collection slow, one story at a time, and then you have a good set of bedtime stories.
This last hour or so I’ve been working on my WIP, which is a historical novel. It’s a little slow going, but I’ve written every day since the New Year, which is my goal.
However, my internet went out about forty-five minutes ago. It has only just recently come back on. During this internet blackout, I hit a snag on my WIP. I needed to know someone’s name. It wasn’t in my notes because I didn’t think this person was very important (and story-wise, he isn’t), so I didn’t note his name.
But here’s the interesting thing about novels…even a lot of side characters/bit parts have names. I just needed to know this guy’s name because using his title would be obnoxious. This small dilemma led to a small twinge of panic.
My initial reaction was: Go to the Internetz! The Internetz! knowz all! You can Google that shit in two seconds, fill in that blank, and call it good. About the time that I was clicking over to Google, Pandora stopped playing my magical writing music.
Uh-oh. The Internetz! had heard my need and said, “Fuck you, Jenny.”
Now I had an issue.
Do I need to whip out all of my research books (and there are definitely more than one of those!) and try to find this dude’s name?!
I’m not sure which book he’ll be in. WTF?
How the hell did James Michener write all of those freakin’ historical tomes without the internet or the awesome power of Google? His notes must be astronomically good and take up about three rooms worth of filing cabinet space. He must have somehow crossed referenced and indexed that shit. How could he possibly have found time to actually write the damn books? The thousand pagers he cranked out — how do theyz existz?
I’d like to say that I’m an organized person, but I now realize that would be a lie. An outright, flagrant lie. So, now that the Internetz! is back…I’m going to take this opportunity to Google the crap out of a couple things before I lose it again.
Luckily, no one was injured in the riot rehearsal process of Marat/Sade. (That’s the short title. The long title is The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade. It’s by Pete Weiss.)
Not to give anything away — but I totally am — the inmates stage a freakin’ riot at the end of the play. In case you were curious, staging that kind of thing a very aerobic activity. Especially when you have to do it six times.
To help you imagine it:
Picture an aerobics floor.
Picture some aerobic dancers on the floor.
Picture them doing something synchronized in a circle in the middle of the floor.
Picture the aerobics instructor leading them in an orderly fashion. The aerobicizers do something cool and orderly. They do stuff like jazz hands and kickboxing moves.
It’s not at all like that.
Oh, there’s plenty of kickboxing moves. And there’s spinning. There’s clapping. There’s even some jumping jacks to go along with the skipping. You could even say there’s some step aerobics, because a few people go up some stairs and a few people go down some stairs.
None of it, however, is synchronized. There’s a significant danger of running into other people. There’s a distinct possibility that at a given moment you will step on someone’s toes, or pull their hair, or bump into them in some fashion.
And that’s just the visual elements.
Did I mention there’s singing? Well, there is. And the singing turns into screaming. A crap ton of screaming.
Yes. Tonight there was a lot of running. Tonight there was a lot of screaming.
(My throat’s a little sore.)