Guess what, it's better than I remember. Now, why is that? Is it that I went through it too fast the first time to become entranced by its richness? I remember it as being deep and complex, not to mention baudy, but it seemed too high-minded for its own good. Maybe now I'm free to slow down and look around at the natives, as it were. In any case, it's a truly epic... er... epic. If you can stomach homoerotic slave fetishes and metafictional commentary, I highly recommend it.
Aside from my inner life, how about all this cold, white shit, hunh? Goddamn, I hate Winter. My cousin Genevieve just made it to the Pole after three seasons in Antarctica, and I can't fucking stand a little snow and ice. Well, it's a helluva lot harder to push my wheelchair down to the bars when the streets are slick.
So, until the Spring thaw, it's books, math, and (if I'm lucky) another couple chapters of Bluebonnet Circle, my own long-suffering Great American Novel. My most recent problem with that is that I'm finally ready to put the death of one of my main characters into narrative, but I'm finding it very difficult to bring myself to do it. I've already killed her three times, if you count outlines and a synopsis for my aforementioned heroic cousin. I haven't thrown out much about this here because I didn't get down to the narrative until relatively recently and chose to flesh out the three most dramatic chapters first, to have them set in case I need to change other parts later. Herein lies the problem. I don't want to kill my Lizzie. Crazy, right? She has grown on me, but her part's a tragedy. It's the main reason I was so engrossed in stories of suicide when I first found LJ. She's only a figment of my imagination, nevertheless, I feel bad about "throwing" her off a building. Perhaps I'm not as much of a cruel-hearted bastard as I thought.
Never fear, once I finish her off (until rewrites and editing bring me back to this dilemma), I'll be fleshing out the narrative from the beginning and might decide to serialize the chapters here. Don't get too eager, however, my writing schedule so far has been glacially slow, as the light density of posts in my journal attest. Bluebonnet Circle might take me another five years to write; so either be patient or come and kick my ass into gear. Also, don't worry that it might be as strange as what I wrote for plague_journal or as esoteric as the cosmology crap; this story is supposed to be the angst-ridden breakup of a group of friends and should at least be readable.
Odd. I'm neither drunk nor stoned, yet I can't remember why I started this post. I guess I'm tired. So... laters.