Had I, perchance, realized the need my body had for this expulsion I could have better let eveything out. What happened instead was a really painful explosion of garbbled stuff. I think I wrote 2 pages of a comic I came up with while working security after my sophomore year. That at least came out nicely, through the detrius of everything else.
Before that I had an out-pouring of poetry prose that flashed by my head before I could get anything out. Before I could finish one line or short stanza, my brain would flit to something else and I'd lost the previous image. While this wasn't necessarily a problem if I were writting some sort of Modernist (read Rick Meyer-esque) poetry. Uh... I don't really hate that kind that much... it's just that that poetry strives to be a mass of images and chaotic structre that my poetry starts as. However, Meyer-esque poetry creates a rather impressive balance between chaotic structure and images that fills the mind with a logical cinjunction of images.
I just had pain.
Now, I don't mean that I had physical pain, though there was this physical reaction that was uncomfortable and I hit my head a few times because I was so frustrated. I kept getting really annoyed that I couldn't get it all together. What I ended up with was a really bizarre narrative loosely connected by proximity. I think there may be something in there but it's going to take a lot of work. Work work work. Blarg.
The redeeming part, the new (old?) comic, makes me happy. Apparently it's a continuation of a short story that I wrote in Clint's fiction class. Those of you that write understand that I fully intend to say that I had little control of the story being a continuation of that story. It seems the reason I didn't start the comic is because I hadn't written the short story. What makes me extremely happy about this is that the characters have a nifty back story already written. This way I can start further in the time line and have flashback issues, et cetera, et ectera. Please lord, don't let it turn into Sandman, which admittedly is where my idea was birthed.
I think that Spring may have something to do with my creative rush. My body has decided it is Spring. Part of this pleases me greatly as Enoch told me that my personal energy is tied to the God (stag spirit) whose life cycle follows the seasons. At this point, I think the rebirth cycle is helping me write. I love it.
I imagine I can use this to my advantage in the future. I could do lab work in winter. Write in the Spring. Do field work in the Summer and.... other in the Fall. I'm really excited by this prospect.
If this is all right, as I feel it is then the weather will only be getting nicer. Which is good as I've been having wicked urges to go hobbit (mmm... new phrase).
To go Hobbit v. inf.
1. to walk about without shoes, taking special care to step in the greenest grass where available.
THe only thing that I'd really like to take directly from Sandman is the art style, which is more realistic but has a dreamlike quality. But, damnit, I can't draw so I get what is given if I get the damn thing together. Rather, I get what is given when I get the thing togather.
I'm not sure if it wants to be a longer graphic novel or a serial comic. I like serial comics, but only if the story is both generic and intensely interesting. Graphic novels can be far more artistic and literary without relying upon shorter plot that, I'd worry, would degrade into something like an X-men cartoon.
I think I'm done. How much create-o-juice on this post?