Sometime in July ’08 I began work on a short project that is finally seeing a final draft. This morning I drummed out parts 3 through 7 (seven total) from a copy of its first draft in a worn-all-to-hell moleskine and written more-or-less illegibly. Worst yet, it needs work – and plenty of it. What’s taken so long is persistent, every-so-often revisions based on shifting personal taste. It is a story told tangentially, and I am frustrated by narrative conventions and my attempts to thwart them. Argh.
But I hope to be done here soon. In the meantime, I am picking www.s-is-for-somewhere.com back up to try and finish it as a virtual hub for my scattered presence online; I’m not much of a web-designer, but I get a kick out of dabbling a little and so I am excited to see what I can do with it. If I had the wherewithal I’d ask for help – but hell no[t yet].
I’ve decided to release everything I can online for free under the creative commons licensing; I suspect the reality is that I won’t make a dime, but that’s okay – I may be able to overcome obscurity (a feat).
At the New York Times: A TINY glass telescope, the size of a pea, has been successfully implanted in the eyes of people with severely damaged retinas, helping them to read, watch television and better see familiar faces.
You mid-nineties gamers remember the antihero Garrett (Thief: the Dark Project / :the Metal Age / : Deadly Shadows / :Gold), having his eye twisted-out by the tree-thing Viktoria, had a steampunk mechanical [telescopic] eye built by the Hammerite, Father Karras.
Sunday is equally lazy. Kristen and I slept late [and she still]. It is just about noon and I am at the glasstable looking out at the little patch of woods just off the porch, and finishing-up “the Hangman” draft – which has taken me only a year to get to this point for measely fifteen-odd pages since I’d written it down. I come back to it every few months, and can’t understand why it is taking me so so so long.
I thought I might chronicle (half-assedly, admittedly) Kristen’s & my venture into [re]indepdence: it is her first side-step into the world outdoors, and–as you know–I’d become a statistic when I [newly graduated and jobless] moved-in with the folks out-of-the-way in Florida. I intend to post some photographs of the place when we have things a little more situated, but, so far, we have a semi-complete Living Room, Kitchen, Bedroom, and Office; the townhouse is small, but two stories and cozy. You’ll see.
- The Explosionist
I finished reading Jenny Davidson‘s The Explosionist – a smart and intuitive read; paced well, a semi-episodic detective trick — I learned a dash of history precisely because it is alternate in The Explosionist‘s Edinburgh; and I subsequently tore down the heavens when it ended on a cliffhanger, prepared to loose on JD all the fury of the world until it occurred to me that, if so, I would never learn what happened after.
— while grooving with Jenny D.’s scientifically-proven paranormality in The Explosionist, I kept wondering just why sleuths in the novel’s world hadn’t simply asked the [presumably good-and-dead] victim directly – or …, vicariously through incense [?] (“–these on the bones of this dead man” etc.). Then p.-268 read
“The basic idea,” Keith said, so earnestly it was almost comical, “is that many serious crimes–murder’s an obvious example–leave no witnesses aside from the perpetrator. So you want to get the dead to testify, but their words are often so vague as to be useless, not to mention that the 1921 decision in Scotland v. Blavatsky affirmed that recordings of the voices of the dead are inadmissible in court. They’re simply too easy to fake.”
and I am subsequently incurably interested in applications of the laws of the living to the dead.