Sunday, May 23


Here's my piece of useless writing advice for the day:

Regardless of how much your fictional universe may resemble the one in which we live, its actual existence is solely in your mind; there is nothing there which is not you. When writing, never forget that you are God. Writing well requires that you be every bit as ruthlessly capricious as the god which imagines our own reality.

Or even more so: never give the fuckers an even break.

Oh, wait, that's supposed to be "suckers."

This has been on my mind of late, due to my theological demotion: in writing Ep III, I am reduced to a minor diety, less even than a demigod -- say, maybe, an angel (which derives, someone might theoretically be interested to know, from the Greek word for "messenger"). I am charged by God -- er, George Lucas -- Himself, through the Archangel Del Rey and the seraphim at LFL who guard The Franchise with swords of flame, with delivering the Message. What latitude I have is restricted to style: I can shout or I can whisper, work in prose, blank verse, or rhyming couplets, but the Message -- the facts of the story -- must remain unchanged.

Not that I'm complaining. It's an interesting process in itself. Currently, I'm leaning toward dactylic hexameter. It's got a sort of Vachel Lindsay rumpty-thump thing going, which makes me want to dance.

Oh, okay, not really.

1 comment:

Mastadge said...

So I guess there's no chance we'll see Quinlan Vos and Caine duking it out with lesbian Angels from the moons of Iego?