(I have to keep reminding myself of this since I gaze at beautiful pictures of Mars all throughout my day.)
Ain't she pretty:
as I was saying...
Jan 27, 2004
Where do Stories Come From, Part 2
And so, the Doc. says: stories come from these official little places we've all figured out meticulously, through our haughty degrees, and formal institutions. Look at Tolkein; Look at Thomas Pynchon; Look at the Cat In The Hat! The Cat in the Hat? (No, that's me speaking now, not him any more.) Yes, I say, look at the Cat in the Hat. Stories don't come from the formal institution. They come from incandescent moments with loud pounding music, good wine, good Bourbon, a good Single Malt. They come from skyscrapers, scraping the sky. They come from eavesdropping on strangers, and watching the hookers swag their way down the streets. They come from the lonely isolation of a bus ride through hell, on the way home from the grocery store. But, they don't come from my life. Oh no. Not from my heart either, or my mind. At least if they do, I don't want to know. Don't tell me.
Do they come from my nightmares, or my dreams?
Where do stories really come from? I have never hazard a guess. I have never had to look for one. When I write a story it is because I'm trying to escape it. I don't go looking for a story. I never have, and I don't want to. Perhaps some understanding of where a story comes from can help me along my way. Yes, it has. I learned something from the first week's lesson: dig deep. And so that's what I did, and I think it was evident all over what I wrote for my first assignment. But the prof says it doesn't show anywhere in what I wrote.
So, I guess I didn't get the point across.