Wednesday, April 10, 2013

18 Twenty-Nineth Beginning (Nanowrimo 2007) Organizing Aunt Sheila

[Welcome to the middle of a long conversation between and Aunt and the Niece she has never met and who has been sent by the family to "help orgainize." Do not read any part of this as if it were a completed story or you will be disappointed. In 2007, my strategy for Nanowrimo was to call my efforts 'literary' use that as an excuse to dump ideas and references that had been collecting in my mind and desk and files for years. I skipped linear progression.]

[I also skipped quotation marks and dialog tags. They may or may not go back. I kind of like the ambiguity.]

[Barbara has collected stacks of notes and is reading from them as she and her Aunt Sheila sit on a log in a meadow an undetermined distance away from nearby houses. The point of their exercise is to enter things into a database and throw the pieces of paper away.]

There’s a picture of a saint holding a traffic cone.

I like that.  Someone did that for me.  It has sentimental value. You can roll your eyes as much as you like, until I remember who did it, it stays

This might be a poem


abbreviated, abridged, curtailed, decurtate
deficient, inadequate, insufficient, exiguous
inconsiderate, thoughtless, unceremonious, ungracious
compact, pointed
abrupt, forthwith, sudden

Not a poem.  More of an arrangement.  Those are all long words meaning short.

Ah, irony


recreational irony

got it


." Such limestone beasts are the human-headed, winged bull and lion pictured here. The horned cap attests to their divinity, and the belt signifies their power. The sculptor gave these guardian figures five legs so that they appear to be standing firmly when viewed from the front but striding forward when seen from the side. These lamassi protected and supported important doorways in Assyrian palaces.

The name lamassu is problematic. The Sumerian word lama, which is rendered in Akkadian as lamassu, refers to a protective deity, who is usually female. She is often shown as a standing figure that introduces guests to another god. Her male counterpart is called alad or, in Akkadian, *êdu.

During the Neo-Assyrian Empire (c.883-612), monumental bulls, often with wings and always with human heads, were placed as gateway guardians at the entrances of royal palaces. The general idea behind them was that they warded off evil. (In jargon: they were apotropaic figures.) Usually, they have five legs. Lion-bodied protective deities are also known, and are usually called "sphinxes".

Yes!  I need to save that for the story.

The one that you’re not writing.

I do not care.  I like the story.

your database 

There’s a bunch of cut and past stuff with the title Petitioning the Muse.

That’s a short . . thing.


I want to write up a petition to my muse and take it out to collect signatures.

Barbara smiled slowly.  You write it, I’ll video it.


that goes under projects, then


This one says pantoum

Though rhyming hooks the mind and sticks
The words to mind for keeping hold,
It, and a poet's other tricks,
Are scorned as being stale and old.
The words to mind for keeping hold
Of honor, once thought soul's own prize,
Are scorned as being stale and old
And hidden, now, from prying eyes.
Of honor, once thought soul's own prize
Only old poets write, their quills
Are hidden, now, from prying eyes
In faded ink, their knowing spills.
Only old poets write, their quills
Are hushed, they fly like winter geese.
In faded ink, their knowing spills
Like falling down.  For memories
Are hushed, they fly like winter geese.
Poems don't rhyme, they walk like prose,
Like falling down.  For memories
Build slowly, so the thinking goes.
Poems don't rhyme, they walk like prose,
Create an image, burnish it
Build slowly, so the thinking goes
To gleaming. Let the mind submit
Creative image; burnish it
With feathers, left by birds who've flown.
To gleaming, let the mind submit
Yet never plot these words to own.
With feathers left by birds, who've flown
From labyrinths and never fell?
Yet never plot these words.  To own
Their meaning is to make a spell
From labyrinths and never fell?
Yet never plot these words.  To own
Their meaning is to make a spell

It’s an old style poem.  I don’t think it has an end yet

I’ll put it under projects


This one has a few notes - Marketing Ploys,
shrink proof wrapping
building inspection

then there’s what looks like the beginning of a story

could you read it for me?


On a dusty brick shelf in a dusty brick alcove sat an oversized coat button and a three by five card with the words DEPRESS BUTTON written on it in neat block letters.  At least Summermoon thought of it as an alcove, though she would not have objected if another person thought of it as a porch or an entryway.  At least she would not have objected if there were a door at the end of it.  Currently there was just the shelf with its two display items
[Barbara continues reading for awhile.  You'll find it with the hyperlink or by searching for Third Beginning.]

I think I have more of that somewhere else.  They didn’t even get inside.
How do they get inside?
She yells at the button, dissing on it mightily until it becomes depressed
that’s bad
very bad – it’s a short story, though
so it goes under projects
if you like
this next on is like a fragment – no title
There aren't any real goths in Stockton, but Web comes close if you catch him in dim light.  His slut of a mom never did him any favors and naming him Weber was the first sign that she was going to screw that baby over.  I've tried to convince him that the name means that he was conceived on the ground next to a cheap barbeque; but for all his skepticism, this is one point on which he needs hope to spring eternal.

He was sitting inside at Sid's, eating oatmeal with no sugar.  The OJ was already finished, of course, because he always drank it first, slowly.  He probably took exactly the same number of sips every day.  The glass of milk was untouched.  He didn't like it cold and would only begin on it after the oatmeal.  He was wearing black trousers with an ironed-in crease, a black polo shirt, white socks, and black boots.  You couldn't see the socks, of course, but I've known Web long enough to have heard the lecture on dyes next to your skin in intimate places more than once.  So I knew the socks were white.  I didn't know why feet were intimate places, but I've learned to leave monologs alone.  If you ever get the chance to ask, feel free to prolong the experience. 

That’s part of Invasive Species, a story.  It starts out with the main character meeting Sid, then he goes to get breakfast the next day, then I think he meets Web.
Books I haven’t.
There’s one with a bunch of quotes about hope. 
I wanted to do an exploration of the theme of hope in Pratchett’s Going Postal.
And you needed to research other themes of hope
Yes.  I didn’t get far.  I bought a book about hope in Johnson’s work, but didn’t slog through very far.
Projects.  It may be awhile before we get to it.
Here’s another poem
[Aaaand the conversation will continue later.  Yes, you'll see more of the no goths in Stockton beginning later.]

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