Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Lilith. Ansel.

Now Playing: Red Dead Redemption OST - Far Away

[There was an excerpt here. I decided to remove it].

...I don't know how I feel about these lines out of context. I mean, the obvious is that they're kind of meh because my prose is bland (I hate my narrative voice--it's so freaking comatose I want to stab it stabitstabitstabitSTABIT AND PUT IT OUT OF ITS MISERY). But aside from that, what do I think about them?

Even in rewrites, the basic images will remain. Ansel, consumed by desperation, searching for her, wishing she would give in.

For a few moments, when I write their confrontations, I feel Ansel pulling me into his head. And I see her as he sees her. I feel what he feels. I know he craves to hold her. I know he blames her for his pain and yet longs for her touch.

And if I was another person, and this was another story, it'd be a love of tragic beauty. (Gag).

But Lilith's terror always yanks me out of his head, and I feel the usual disgust and anger at his obsession.

In context, these scenes are getting weirdly uncomfortable. It's not a love story. That much I know. But when these moments spring up, and when I think about the concept and the little images, I start to wonder if they're spinning out of my control. I wonder if I'm writing it correctly, or if, in the grand scheme of things, it's coming out as romanticized.

They're just my characters right now. Immortal individuals who've drifted through the world, one as a wanderer and a runaway, the other as a hunter with a one-track mind.

But I'm worried that the more I write, the more they'll start to represent other things. What will that say about me and my little corner of the world?

I guess that's the scariest part of writing: losing control.

And this all probably sounds perfectly nonsensical.

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