part blog-post, part insight into current creative development
I ate banana pancakes this morning. I saw an old man on a bike in matching denims and a stackhat. I looked into somebody’s eyes. There are nine paper tasks on the floor.
They will give me new parts like Frankenstein’s monster.
A producer this week told me about Roger Corman bringing his lunch in the same paper bag each day.
I saw publishers pitch their books to filmmakers. Some of them compacting story, theme and character into 90 seconds. Some of them getting it wrong. [email protected]: I am reporting on it for work. I will tell you more about it later.
I’m developing three poems. Images: churning and swishing in my head. I try to be open but then a touch is like a burn and I retract.
This is what the poems will be for. I’m intimidated by the company. But then… this is the best. This creative cocktail of colours unexpected in my head. Are you with me, here?
I had so many dreams this week: the man with no face in the tree, torturing me with a drill. I wouldn’t tell him where my sister was. The green interior of a haunted house with large bookshelves. Nick Cave and I finding a semi-secretive spot at a party. This one was not a nightmare…
Link-a-thon Sunday: Frank McCourt, sadly, passed away. Entries for the 2009 Davitt Awards (crime) are now open. Griffith Review is accepting submissions for a special summer fiction edition ‘Stories for Today’.
Today. Begun. Begot. Flipped upside-down. (Soon) gone.