Saturday, September 01, 2007

She's alive!

Ah, I saw a specialist doctor on Thursday to determine what the hell is wrong with my ears. He gave me more medicine and, hurray!, I woke up this morning *not* in pain! That hasn't happened since August 20th.

It was a bit of a chuckle when I was filling out forms in the office and one of the questions was, "What medications have you taken for this condition?" and I thought, "How much time have you got?"

Verdict: It seems that if the normal person's ear canal is a four lane highway, my ears are a service road. Narrow canals. It's funny, he told me this in a really cheerful way. "Oh, look at that little little! I can barely see!" And there was a student there observing so she got to take a peek too. Her comment, "oh, wow."












In other news, a while back I posted a paragraph that I felt acted as the end of a story, I just needed to write the story. Now, I am working on it to have in time to hand in a rough draft for class on Thursday. Problem is, the instructor stipulated that she wants us to read a little bit out loud when we have workshops. Every time I read the story out loud, I get some kind of southern accent, which I didn't realize while writing. I can't imagine trying to read it out loud in front of my peers like that. The only thing I know of a genuine southern accent is when my dad says "Arkestra" instead of "orchestra." ah, me.

And, because I write such short pieces, I am to hand in multiple stories for workshop. As if, because the stories are shorter, they are easier to poop out. Not so. Honestly, it wouldn't be a stretch for me to say it takes an average of eight to ten months for me to finish a story. Some have taken seven years, some have taken two weeks. But the average, I'd say, is eight to ten months.

Not that I think the instructor is being unreasonable. I mean, I am a grown woman in my fifth semester of graduate school, I should be able to hand in 10 pages of rough drafts.

And, so, I spent a couple of hours at a coffee shop earlier, trying to wrangle my brain into fixing an old idea. A story that I've started oh, so many times.


















I find that music is my main inspiration for writing. If I hear a song and it hits me in the chest, I can get a story around it. For instance, said southern voice story above, was inspired by the Clipse track, "No time for No's." and my Featherproof story, "Flash Flicker Fire" was inspired by a Hip-Hop History cd that I made for the class that I taught last semester.

Today, I was listening to "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" and I thought I could get something out of it, but no, the words just came out weepy and contrived. They didn't have the rhythm of the other two stories (mentioned above).

Could it be that I can only write to the sounds of hip-hop? Not that I object, but, that means I need to educate myself much more on this remarkable (and inspiring) genre!

I wonder what Frank Stanford was listening to when he wrote "The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You" 'cause that shit is hot.

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