If vision is the only validation

I don't know if I feel better because of the talk I had with the honours coordinator or because of the headache pills...either way, its nice not to feel on the verge of a breakdown.

That said, I realise the problem I'm having with this is that I'm trying to make Soliloquy fit into this mould it was never meant to really fit into. What I should be doing is writing a story to illustrate the issue, as opposed to trying to make Soliloquy fit the issue. So I guess that means the novel is yet again on hold. My project will draw on it though, I mean I'm going to be using the same characters really, just not in the same way perhaps. Well, I don't know. I've decided not to worry too much about the details right now and rather focus on getting research done on the topic of my enquiry - identity. More specifically identity and networking, that sort of thing.

Problem is, don't know if my supervisor is necessarily the right person for me anymore since its not really about writing as much now. Eh. I'll have a meeting with her and see how she feels about it. Otherwise I'll have to locate someone new I guess.

Anyway, here be the photo of the day as resolved yesterday. It's from Jasper since I forgot my camera. See, I am dedicated to this pointless task!

It is the park near my mum's work. It's just been redone and looks very swish. I was sitting on the bench this afternoon watching these two grown men playing around on the swings. They were really enjoying themselves. The moral - never grow up.

I love that Twitter can be overcapacity. I think that alone is testament to how out of control it's gotten.

On the random front, I watched Nevermind the Buzzcocks on youtube last night. So.Much.Laughter. The faster internet has made youtube a very attractive option, and more detrimental to my grade point average than ever. Ah well. Technology! Embrace it!

You know, in my uni library there are for some reason quite a few books on that show 'The L Word', which must be some academic trend since they also made us study it in Television & Pop Culture. However, there is not a single book purely on Doctor Who (there are some sci-fi books that mention it) and there certainly isn't anything on Torchwood. Now. Provided there is something actually worth investigating (which might be the problem in the first place and thus the lack of books), I could so totally do my PhD on this. I know, I know. Barely managing Honours and already thinking of a PhD. But there is a gap! And you are meant to do something that has never been done before! Come ooooon. What could be better than a thesis that involves total Whoniverse immersion?

Also, apparantly the Daily Telegraph reports that the Royal Shakespeare Company will be filming Hamlet so I could possibly still get to see David in it. Huzzah!

Music: Black & Gold - Sam Sparro
Mood: Upbeat

And all that jazz

Well. Clearly I am in way over my head with this whole Honours thing. But damn it, I shall prevail! All I need is a pass after all, and surely, surely, I can manage that. Huh. I forsee a lot of head meet desk moments.

So yesterday's class...not quite what I expected. For one thing, we total a whole four students. Such staggering numbers, I know. It also appears that the proposals we submitted last year meant nothing. Which is a bit disconcerting since I was thinking that if it got accepted, then surely I was ok, but no, this is apparantly just another technique for lulling you into a false sense of security. There is enough theory in this to bloody drown in. I have to find examples of the theory we're doing every week to support my interpreation of it. The fact that there are only three other people in the class means I am really going to have to work at it, since there's no way for me to blend into the background like I usually do. Participation is unavoidable. Of course, I have no idea what's going on. I managed to BS my way through yesterday simply by going on about things I'd studied in the past and heard in passing. Abbi's talk of 'Everything is Illuminated' was a total life saver. So now I'm going to have to read a lot of post-modern and experimental novels, not to mention Proust. Oh and Sebald. Sigh.

Today. Oh dear god, today. Started off with a fabulous first impression by being late. I only got out of work at quater to, and the Doc was less than imrpessed with me for that. I don't know what else I can do *shrugs* Anyway, everyone who does Honours is in this class and we had to go around talking about what we're doing and then fall into groups with people of similar inclination. I am the only one doing something wholly creative based. The lecturer made me feel very secure in this by stating it as "worrying." Thanks. You do wonders for my confidence. I am now thinking the entire thing is going to have to be re-worked. The underlying principle will stay the same - same basic story, same characters - but I think I'm going to have to go all post-modern and existential on it to make it fit within the strict word limit while still conveying the issues of narrative form, and the notions of 'truth' and 'identity' within a technology and celeberity obsessed modern society. At the moment I'm thinking of going all out on the disjointed, broken fiction angle throwing in things that really influence the preception of identity within modern culture such as headlines, facebook status', twitter updates, blogs, msn conversations, text messages....all that sort of things. So Phee's point of view is presented in a straight out narrative form that jumps in short bursts, while being continually interrrupted by all these outside influences, juxtaposing who she is, and how she actually interacts with her world, against the perception of her by others. THUS: it's an experiment of narrative structure explored through a girl's struggle for identity within a society that imposes its own conceived notions of who she is upon her. So I guess in a weird way, the actual shape and form of the text itself is a metaphor for the underlying story. Then it all relates back to whether there really is a way to exhibit 'truth' and 'identity' within text and whether the notion of 'identity' or a 'true self' even exists. Can you resolve the person you think you are with the person everyone thinks you are? There is no such thing as a pure truth.

And so forth.

I dont know. I'm just rambling, trying to get it all out. I think that could work though. I'd do my exegsis on the changes and subversions to narrative form, and how it is a means of reflecting the story. The text becomes part of the message. Like that whole concrete poetry deal. I'd also consider how this relate to the notions of 'truth' and 'identity' not only within text itself, but within modern society as a whole. So if I was to sum it up, I guess it would be "everyone knows everyone, but does everyone really know anyone?" Ha. I can talk in circles! Surely this must mean it's academically sound. I've never read anything in this field that has made even the tiniest bit of sense. Look at Heidegger and his bloody "thinging"!

Tomorrow it's off to Cultural Studies, which is always a royal pain. But it's the only thing that vaguely relates to my topic, so I'm stuck with it. Place. Blah. Well I guess I was going to do that scene where Phee goes to visit the site of the plane crash...and she does keep moving around cause she doesn't feel at home anywhere. That's place related...sorta. Not that it matters I suppose. The story is not going to make any sense in any traditional way.

I have so much bloody research and reading and crap to do though. I feel like I'm lightyears behind everyone else.

On the bright side, all this scrambling about trying to make my story fit the newly imposed limits means I can do the full novel version of Soliloquy for my masters instead. Either way, that novel will be written, damn it. Whether in an academic context or when I have some time to myself, it will be done.

Completely random tangent - Martin is insane.

If Ryan from Yellowcard has gone and started a new band, does that mean Yellowcard are no more? That would figure, since they haven't been doing anything. Not that I know of. Well...whatever. I swear, you leave these people alone for two seconds and you have no idea what's going on anymore.

Also, Keaton Ari Danger Lazzara? Really? Billie Joe got there first with the whole 'danger is my middle name thing', ya know.

Now, for no apparant reason, here is Spin magazine's list of proposed rock star benefits from the US stimulus plan. I have a soft spot for Spin since they gave me the wonderful phrase: "The iPhone - the stylish way to grow an iTumor in your iBrain." Proving yet again, for posterity's sake, that I am far too easily amused.

Now I'm going to go avoid reality some more...and not do my copious amounts of work.

Sigh. There is no hope for me.

"I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?"
"I think you can in Europe."

Music: Graceland - Paul Simon
Mood: Frustrated

I'm a fool for you

Okay, writing prompt exercise numero duos. It be this picture -

The piece doesn't really adhere to it strictly, but the underlying principle is the same. This time it features some of the cast of Soliloquy - Phoenix Nesser, Jameson and Zildjian Wright, and the random Tate twins who I namedrop whenever it suits me. Word count at 477.

***

Phoenix stood at the glass doors, staring out at the pool beyond. Jameson lay next to the edge, lazily trailing his hands through the water, while Michigan Tate floated along on the water lounge. Her unbelievable blonde hair, which had no right to exist outside of a shampoo commercial, fanned out around her like a halo as it seemed to trap the sunlight. Michigan’s twin brother emerged from the far end of the pool, blinking water out of his sleepy blue eyes as he shook his head like a wet dog. It earned him a splash as reprimand but the action only made him smile widely. Phee shook her head. The word impish came to mind.
“What is this? A halfway house for misguided celebrity offspring?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as Jameson propped himself up on one elbow as Michigan floated closer to his side.
A snort behind her made her turn around. Zil was sitting at the dining room table, arching an eyebrow over the piece of paper he was holding up.
“Pot. Kettle. Black.”
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” she asked, casting another look at the pool.
“TV. Shocking, isn’t it?”
Phee threw a grin at him only to find him focused intently on the paper again. She sighed and moved closer to glance over his shoulder. The dark wood table was barely visible under the sheaves of paper, all covered in what ranged from scribbles to random detailed images to what looked like storyboards. Phee moved a few around, picking one up to study it more closely.
“You’re making a comic book?” she asked, surprised.
“Graphic novel.”
“That’s very um –”
“Nerdy? Yeah, I know.”
“I was going to say awesome.”
He looked up and grinned at her, and she returned the gesture fondly. There was a smudge of graphite on his left cheek but Phee didn’t say anything. It suited the boy somehow. He turned his attention back to his work, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he bent closer to his creation. Oh yeah, she could see him as an artist. An artist and a heartbreaker, given a few more years. Just like his brother, she mused, only with more introspection and less swagger.
Her eyes followed the natural progression of her thoughts out to Jameson who was now making a show of diving into the pool. He cut through the water smoothly, sending out ripples across the surface. The metaphor didn’t escape Phee; after all Jameson sent little ripples out around him with his every movement. Or at least he did where she was concerned. She watched him resurface and he caught her eye, grinning and tilting his head back in a clear invitation.
“Such a sucker for a sweet talker,” she murmured under her breath. With a sigh, she stepped out onto the deck.

Music: Supermassive Black Hole - Muse
Mood: Caffeinated