The days are starting to blur together into a montage of movie theaters.
Day 3 we got our storyboard approved. And my video still sucks, but I'm getting better. I think.
I skipped the girls shorts (films) to see a documentary about the history of San Francisco as a gay city, which sounded interesting and I wanted to solicit the director, but it did not have Amber Benson in it. It was quite a disappointment. It was boring, shots of buildings with anecdotes narrated by voice-overs, the camera was so, so shaky, and the music was kind of trippy. . The whole thing made me want to put my head between my knees and cover my ears. Actually, I kind of did a few times.
Afterwards I tried to solicit the director, but he was squirrely. I managed to pin him down for a fime later that day, which led to some really messy phone calls trying to get my group together. On the way down, I called to say we were running a few minutes late. "That's okay. We could even do it another day if you wanted." Yes. Yes. Another day. Why did I not suggest this before? Because he was so squirrely I was afraid he was going to run away. But we're actually doing him today.
Day 4 we pushed the morning class meeting an hour earlier, because some of us (mostly me) wanted to see a film that was playing at nine. We almost did not make it, though, because that turned into the meeting where everyone talks about their feelings. Honestly, tell us we seriously need to check in, and that we should be responsible enough to take out our own trash, and it's all good. Don't spend an hour talking about how unappreciated you feel.
We literally ran to the Bunnies (quick like a bunny!) and made it with plenty of time to spare what with traliers and everything. I was in such a hurry I did not even grab tissues, so of course this was the first film to make me cry. There's just something about a fluffy animated bunny saying "I love my girlfriend" that makes me really happy. The part that made me lose it, though, was "Met a girl. Broke her tree. Now I feel bad" - "So fix it!" - "Fix it?" There's a quote from Margaret Atwood about why we cry at hapy endings - because we know they are impossible. It's just so simple and beautiful and perfect, like life never is! But it is in bunny world.
After that, though, and even during that, I started feelng like the odd kid out at the party. Which really shouldn't happen in San Francisco. But the people who went with me to see the Bunnies didn't want to see it because they thought a bunny with a chainsaw sounded like the coolest thing ever; they wanted to see it to gawk at how weird it was. And later I tried to get people to go out with me while I took footage of the street, but everyone had gone out for a birthday party th enight before, and was trying to do homework today. And then no one at all wanted to go to the animated shorts, instead seeing a movie with lots of gay sex where apparently it's not even simulated, they're actually having sex on camera. Too bad, because the shorts were fantastic. I just don't have anyone to talk about them with.
And it isn't even that everyone was busy; it's just that people kept saying yes and then changing their minds. None of them love me more than shopping. And really, we just met, and all our group cohesiveness is a mutually maintained illusion, because I don't actually know these people, but I like that illusion. I hope this doesn't turn into Marburg. This can't turn into Marburg. It's just a reminder to myself that Marburg is always with me.
At least the weather is nice today. Cloudy with a high of 62. No, seriously, I'm really excited. I'm in the mood for a dreary day, not in a sulky emo way; I find it soothing, sometimes.
Showing posts with label Angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angst. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, September 16, 2011
Responsibility
My life in isolation in Scheissburg drove me over the edge, but I think it is fair to say that I had been pushed to the edge by the previous semester. Long story and confidential events shortened, I became Mark from the musical Rent. I watched my best buddy Roger get his heart torn apart by Mimi (or perhaps he would be Benny by now), and dealt with Maureen's craziness on the side. I watched my world and my friends sink into hell, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it, not even make a stupid movie. Mark is a really sucky character to be. He doesn't actually do anything. Just stands around and mopes while everyone deals with crap. He doesn't even affect anything. He doesn't end up with a lover. FML.
The play neglects to mention, however, just how much it hurts to be in that situation. To simultaneously be certain there is nothing you can do and still have the urge to fix everything. Torn apart, much?
In summary, my two resolutions for this year are: 1. Stop being afraid of things that won't kill me (did I mention that already?) and 2. Don't make things my problem that aren't. Because I came to the realization that I can't take care of anyone else if I can't take care of myself.
So now that we're in the second act, Maureen is having trouble with Joanne, and I can tell him what we all know he needs to do. I can assure him a thousand times over that yes, people are going to be upset with him, but we as his friends will never abandon him. But when it comes right down to it, this is something he can only do himself.
Last fall got to the point where I wanted to confront Mimi/Benny and have a very frank conversation with him about my take on what was going on. That did not happen until after it was essentially too late. Now, I'm choking off the impulse to do the same with Joanne. She barely knows me. And yet...I know she's about to go through hell. A part of me thinks I could say something, do something, to make it easier. So where do I draw the line? Is she my problem, or isn't she? Do I keep from getting involved, or am I already involved?
What is going to happen is that I won't say anything unless she approaches me. Then all bets are off. This is a very delicate situation, and any direct interference from me could very easily swing things the wrong way. So Mark, get thee behind thy camera where you belong. The best thing I can do now is call encouragement as the actors play their parts. For I am an actor too, and I have my own parts to play.
How did we get here? How the hell - ?
Pan left. Close on the steeple of the church...
Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor
Of memory?
When single frames from one magic night
Forever flicker in close up
Of the 3D Imax of my mind?...
Why am I the witness?
And when I capture it on film?
Will it mean that it's the end, and I'm alone?
The play neglects to mention, however, just how much it hurts to be in that situation. To simultaneously be certain there is nothing you can do and still have the urge to fix everything. Torn apart, much?
In summary, my two resolutions for this year are: 1. Stop being afraid of things that won't kill me (did I mention that already?) and 2. Don't make things my problem that aren't. Because I came to the realization that I can't take care of anyone else if I can't take care of myself.
So now that we're in the second act, Maureen is having trouble with Joanne, and I can tell him what we all know he needs to do. I can assure him a thousand times over that yes, people are going to be upset with him, but we as his friends will never abandon him. But when it comes right down to it, this is something he can only do himself.
Last fall got to the point where I wanted to confront Mimi/Benny and have a very frank conversation with him about my take on what was going on. That did not happen until after it was essentially too late. Now, I'm choking off the impulse to do the same with Joanne. She barely knows me. And yet...I know she's about to go through hell. A part of me thinks I could say something, do something, to make it easier. So where do I draw the line? Is she my problem, or isn't she? Do I keep from getting involved, or am I already involved?
What is going to happen is that I won't say anything unless she approaches me. Then all bets are off. This is a very delicate situation, and any direct interference from me could very easily swing things the wrong way. So Mark, get thee behind thy camera where you belong. The best thing I can do now is call encouragement as the actors play their parts. For I am an actor too, and I have my own parts to play.
How did we get here? How the hell - ?
Pan left. Close on the steeple of the church...
Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor
Of memory?
When single frames from one magic night
Forever flicker in close up
Of the 3D Imax of my mind?...
Why am I the witness?
And when I capture it on film?
Will it mean that it's the end, and I'm alone?
Monday, August 1, 2011
Writing Again
Sometimes it's easy.
Sometimes it feels like the story is writing itself, like it's all already there and you just have to record it. Every word it perfect, every plot twist just the way it has to be, the characters developing in new and exciting directions so fast you can barely keep up. It's like something is burning inside you, just under the ribcage. It's like being horny; that maddening need to be with the story, to let it consume you.
Other times it's hard. So hard, you don't want to face it. You look at what you've written, and you wonder "How did I come up with that shit?" and it doesn't seem worth it to fix any of the millions and millions of problems with the text. The characters are flat, the whole concept is unoriginal. Your story is boring. Your initial creative rush has died to a trickle of foul sludge. New, exciting ideas hover at the edge of your mind, and you want to leave this one behind and chase them, even though you know it will all end the same, and that you won't be able to commit until you finish this one, and maybe, just maybe, a part of you still believes in that boring old story.
It is this that separates the writers from the dreamers. Even when you don't want to face the story, you do it anyway, and stare at the document for hours, forcing out a sentence every few minutes. Then it feels like the story is there again, but trapped behind a glass wall, and it can't get out. Still, you plow on ahead.
Even when your mother walks into your room and asks "Oh, what are you doing? Are you writing?" "Yes." "Is it for your blog?" "No." "Oh, do you have some sort of project, a story?" "I don't really want to talk about it." "Well, you could just say a manuscript," as she goes off in an offended huff, because even though we usually get along great, if there is a problem with our relationship then it's always my fault, and she never bothers to ask me if maybe I'm being belligerant because I'm upset about something, and what might that be? Not unless I have a complete emotional breakdown and burst into tears, and even then it's hard to get her to actually listen. Note to self: When you start seeing a counselor in the fall, make sure to bring up your crapsaccharine relationship with your mother.
And then you're all frazzled and can't concentrate, and feel oddly violated and raw, so you maybe force out another sentence or at least finish the one you were on, then close down and let the story recover. But it is still there, that nagging, unfinished business that you cannot quite leave behind you. And you're going to have to go through it all over again tomorrow.
This is what separates the writers from the dreamers.
Sometimes it feels like the story is writing itself, like it's all already there and you just have to record it. Every word it perfect, every plot twist just the way it has to be, the characters developing in new and exciting directions so fast you can barely keep up. It's like something is burning inside you, just under the ribcage. It's like being horny; that maddening need to be with the story, to let it consume you.
Other times it's hard. So hard, you don't want to face it. You look at what you've written, and you wonder "How did I come up with that shit?" and it doesn't seem worth it to fix any of the millions and millions of problems with the text. The characters are flat, the whole concept is unoriginal. Your story is boring. Your initial creative rush has died to a trickle of foul sludge. New, exciting ideas hover at the edge of your mind, and you want to leave this one behind and chase them, even though you know it will all end the same, and that you won't be able to commit until you finish this one, and maybe, just maybe, a part of you still believes in that boring old story.
It is this that separates the writers from the dreamers. Even when you don't want to face the story, you do it anyway, and stare at the document for hours, forcing out a sentence every few minutes. Then it feels like the story is there again, but trapped behind a glass wall, and it can't get out. Still, you plow on ahead.
Even when your mother walks into your room and asks "Oh, what are you doing? Are you writing?" "Yes." "Is it for your blog?" "No." "Oh, do you have some sort of project, a story?" "I don't really want to talk about it." "Well, you could just say a manuscript," as she goes off in an offended huff, because even though we usually get along great, if there is a problem with our relationship then it's always my fault, and she never bothers to ask me if maybe I'm being belligerant because I'm upset about something, and what might that be? Not unless I have a complete emotional breakdown and burst into tears, and even then it's hard to get her to actually listen. Note to self: When you start seeing a counselor in the fall, make sure to bring up your crapsaccharine relationship with your mother.
And then you're all frazzled and can't concentrate, and feel oddly violated and raw, so you maybe force out another sentence or at least finish the one you were on, then close down and let the story recover. But it is still there, that nagging, unfinished business that you cannot quite leave behind you. And you're going to have to go through it all over again tomorrow.
This is what separates the writers from the dreamers.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Was it all a dream?
I just spent five months in Germany.
In a few short hours, my family is going to come pick me up, we're going to do some touristing and meet up with relatives, and then it's back home for the summer. Three long lazy months later, back to college. Good old normal college life, with friends and fun classes and things happening.
The past semester is a blur. I feel like I just got here, and just started figuring things out and feeling comfortable with the language and meeting people and just getting myself organized. It feels like only a week or so ago that our jetlagged group was dragged down to the city center to register. We were all so confused and tired and had so much paperwork thron at us, while starting our class of people who all already knew each other. Not to mention buying food, cooking food, buying cooking implements, laundry detergent, etc., etc.
And now it's over. Just like that. Like a dream. A break from reality that does not quite make sense, but you simply accept it. That seems to go on forever until suddenly it is over. And once it is over, it is relegated to some dusy corner of memory with all the other odd but useless bits. Because none of it ever actually happened.
I could wake up in my bed at home and find that the whole past year never happened, that I need to get ready for fall semester of sophomore year, and that there is still time to do things differently. How, I am not sure. Switch my program, make it a full year in Austria. Spend less time with certain people. Or maybe more time - maybe if I had been more careful, none of it would have happened (I have not posted anything here about the shitstorm of last semester. Just think Rent without the AIDS. Well, metaphorical AIDS. And no musical numbers either.)
Only time doesn't work like that. In the words of Die Aertzte "Du hast nur dies eine Leben/Wenn's vorbei ist, ist's vorbei." You just have this one life, and when it's passed, then it is past. Memories stack up on each other, and there is no way to go back and change them. Everything is forever.
Yes, I did have sort of a mental crisis here. A few of them actually.
But I got better.
That's another funny thing. I got better just as I am about to leave, even though I don't know why. Probably just positive attitude change from the prospect of seeing my family again. After all, this place and time caused me so many problems, it's not like it would turn around and fix any for me, would it?
It is a dream because I don't feel any different upon waking. Real life changes you. Dreams don't.
Getting a bit wishy-washy here, so I'll post again when I figure out what I'm actually trying to say.
In a few short hours, my family is going to come pick me up, we're going to do some touristing and meet up with relatives, and then it's back home for the summer. Three long lazy months later, back to college. Good old normal college life, with friends and fun classes and things happening.
The past semester is a blur. I feel like I just got here, and just started figuring things out and feeling comfortable with the language and meeting people and just getting myself organized. It feels like only a week or so ago that our jetlagged group was dragged down to the city center to register. We were all so confused and tired and had so much paperwork thron at us, while starting our class of people who all already knew each other. Not to mention buying food, cooking food, buying cooking implements, laundry detergent, etc., etc.
And now it's over. Just like that. Like a dream. A break from reality that does not quite make sense, but you simply accept it. That seems to go on forever until suddenly it is over. And once it is over, it is relegated to some dusy corner of memory with all the other odd but useless bits. Because none of it ever actually happened.
I could wake up in my bed at home and find that the whole past year never happened, that I need to get ready for fall semester of sophomore year, and that there is still time to do things differently. How, I am not sure. Switch my program, make it a full year in Austria. Spend less time with certain people. Or maybe more time - maybe if I had been more careful, none of it would have happened (I have not posted anything here about the shitstorm of last semester. Just think Rent without the AIDS. Well, metaphorical AIDS. And no musical numbers either.)
Only time doesn't work like that. In the words of Die Aertzte "Du hast nur dies eine Leben/Wenn's vorbei ist, ist's vorbei." You just have this one life, and when it's passed, then it is past. Memories stack up on each other, and there is no way to go back and change them. Everything is forever.
Yes, I did have sort of a mental crisis here. A few of them actually.
But I got better.
That's another funny thing. I got better just as I am about to leave, even though I don't know why. Probably just positive attitude change from the prospect of seeing my family again. After all, this place and time caused me so many problems, it's not like it would turn around and fix any for me, would it?
It is a dream because I don't feel any different upon waking. Real life changes you. Dreams don't.
Getting a bit wishy-washy here, so I'll post again when I figure out what I'm actually trying to say.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Beginning of the End
I have just spent the last five months studying in Germany. And there you go, gushing about how jealous you are, and how it was the time of my life, and did I do a ton of travelling, and my German must be so much better now. No.
This semester has been the worst five months of my life, but I am through bitching about it. I am not allowed to think about wasted time. I am going to make this into a positive experience. Somehow.
Things I learned in Germany:
1. German is not cool when everyone speaks it.
2. Only Americans think German is cool.
3. I still do not like being a tourist.
4. It is no easier making friends abroad than at home.
5. I have not left high school behind me as thoroughly as I thought.
6. It sucks when people die.
7. Stuffed animals are necessary for psychological well-being.
8. I need people.
9. Written translation work is fun. Speaking is not.
10. I have serious psychological issues that will one day need to be dealt with.
11. Grown-ups are useless.
12. I like trains.
13. Cooking is only fun if there is someone to eat with.
14. I do not like small towns.
15. I cannot go five months without peanut butter; In fact, I can't go one month.
16. The point of travel is not where you go, but who you're with.
17. If you leave your cabinet unlocked, expect your bread to be stolen.
18. The internet is full of things - like the first three seasons of Digimon on youtube.
19. Being a foreigner sucks.
20. I still like anime.
21. Expecting one event to solve all your problems is a bad idea.
22. When deciding where to spend a significant portion of one's life, go by more criteria than just what looks pretty.
This semester has been the worst five months of my life, but I am through bitching about it. I am not allowed to think about wasted time. I am going to make this into a positive experience. Somehow.
Things I learned in Germany:
1. German is not cool when everyone speaks it.
2. Only Americans think German is cool.
3. I still do not like being a tourist.
4. It is no easier making friends abroad than at home.
5. I have not left high school behind me as thoroughly as I thought.
6. It sucks when people die.
7. Stuffed animals are necessary for psychological well-being.
8. I need people.
9. Written translation work is fun. Speaking is not.
10. I have serious psychological issues that will one day need to be dealt with.
11. Grown-ups are useless.
12. I like trains.
13. Cooking is only fun if there is someone to eat with.
14. I do not like small towns.
15. I cannot go five months without peanut butter; In fact, I can't go one month.
16. The point of travel is not where you go, but who you're with.
17. If you leave your cabinet unlocked, expect your bread to be stolen.
18. The internet is full of things - like the first three seasons of Digimon on youtube.
19. Being a foreigner sucks.
20. I still like anime.
21. Expecting one event to solve all your problems is a bad idea.
22. When deciding where to spend a significant portion of one's life, go by more criteria than just what looks pretty.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Post in Which I Talk About Gay Marriage
So right now Minnesota's government is discussing a ban on gay marriage.
I, unfortunately, am not registered to vote in Minnesota, and so have confined my activities to getting entangled in a comment war on Facebook. At least my friend who originally posted this is an ally. A good ally.
See, a recurring motif of the people who commented was "I have gay friends, but I don't think gay people should get married because the Bible says no." I am not going to argue the religious aspect. I do not care what you do in the privacy of your own home - and honestly, people with those opinions aren't going to change them unless they want to. What bothers me is the hypocrisy.
If you can look someone in the eye and tell them that you never want them to get married, are you truly their friend? If you tell your friends that it's okay that they are gay, but you are trying to "change yourself for God," do you think they really believe that you are okay with the gay? And if you say it's okay for people to be gay, as long as they don't get married, then are you really approving of the gay?
It also bugs me how people think they can just say anything, as long as they follow it with "But I have gay friends, so I'm not homophobic." Do you think your gay friends approve of your favorite complaint being "That's so gay!" Do you think a piece of their souls does not quietly wilt every time they hear that phrase?
Back to marriage.
I think our society has progressed to the point where homophobia is for the most part frowned upon. Most people will say they don't mind gay people in theory; what other people do in the privacy of their home is their own business. But being gay is not confined to the privacy of one's own home. You take it with you to school, to work, to parties, to the grocery store, to the dentist, to the voting booth.
Being married is not confined to the privacy of your own home. You display the ring for the world to see. Women go from Miss to Mrs. In casual conversation, the second question after "How are you?" is "How is your significant other/family?" You go together to neighborhood get-togethers and family obligations. When you fill out forms and surveys, you check the box labelled "Married."
That is why gay marriage is frowned upon by apparent non-homophobes. Gay is okay, as long as no one sees it. Marriage is far too in your face. Let's just go back to the subculture of the 1950's.
The problem with people who do not use logic to back up their arguments is that it is impossible to use logic to counter them.
And so now that I have a proverbial bruise from proverbially banging my head against the wall, I leave you with the reason more people should know German:
I, unfortunately, am not registered to vote in Minnesota, and so have confined my activities to getting entangled in a comment war on Facebook. At least my friend who originally posted this is an ally. A good ally.
See, a recurring motif of the people who commented was "I have gay friends, but I don't think gay people should get married because the Bible says no." I am not going to argue the religious aspect. I do not care what you do in the privacy of your own home - and honestly, people with those opinions aren't going to change them unless they want to. What bothers me is the hypocrisy.
If you can look someone in the eye and tell them that you never want them to get married, are you truly their friend? If you tell your friends that it's okay that they are gay, but you are trying to "change yourself for God," do you think they really believe that you are okay with the gay? And if you say it's okay for people to be gay, as long as they don't get married, then are you really approving of the gay?
It also bugs me how people think they can just say anything, as long as they follow it with "But I have gay friends, so I'm not homophobic." Do you think your gay friends approve of your favorite complaint being "That's so gay!" Do you think a piece of their souls does not quietly wilt every time they hear that phrase?
Back to marriage.
I think our society has progressed to the point where homophobia is for the most part frowned upon. Most people will say they don't mind gay people in theory; what other people do in the privacy of their home is their own business. But being gay is not confined to the privacy of one's own home. You take it with you to school, to work, to parties, to the grocery store, to the dentist, to the voting booth.
Being married is not confined to the privacy of your own home. You display the ring for the world to see. Women go from Miss to Mrs. In casual conversation, the second question after "How are you?" is "How is your significant other/family?" You go together to neighborhood get-togethers and family obligations. When you fill out forms and surveys, you check the box labelled "Married."
That is why gay marriage is frowned upon by apparent non-homophobes. Gay is okay, as long as no one sees it. Marriage is far too in your face. Let's just go back to the subculture of the 1950's.
The problem with people who do not use logic to back up their arguments is that it is impossible to use logic to counter them.
And so now that I have a proverbial bruise from proverbially banging my head against the wall, I leave you with the reason more people should know German:
Lyrics and translation to follow in next post.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Writer's Angst (formerly Writer's Block)
Just because I haven't posted anything in a while, and it might help me get things in order.
I am very good at beginning stories. Not so good at finishing them. Usually I get about halfway through, then realize that a new plot development changes the way everything was from the beginning. At this point, I can either a) Keep writing and go back and fix it later, or b) start all over again.
There is also what I term the Brick Wall, though the more conventional imagery is Writer's Block: The story is going along just fine, until all of a sudden everything just stops. The story is not over, and nothing is resolved, but you are just about to enter the third act, into the deeper machinations and eventual resolutions of things you haven't thought out clearly yet, but assumed you would cross that bridge when you came to it, and...wham. No bridge, but a brick wall.
The sum of my major works to date, all ending in brick walls:
1) (Untitled*) - probably my oldest story, which has existed in my head in some form or another since I was thirteenish. Of course, what I have now hardly bears any resemblence to what I had then. There are wizards, and one of the major character is an assassin, and that's about it. This story is like a canvas that has been painted over and repainted so many times, it cannot help but be distorted by the colors and textures of what it once was. I am considering peeling it all of, tossing it aside, and starting fresh. Only I've tried that, and somehow, the story always comes back to me. Maybe this time for real. Until the next grand variation pops into my head, and I think, Maybe this time it will work.
2) "Glass and Bone" - a sort of steampunky thing that may or may not also have magic in-universe. That may or may not be in the same universe as story 1. A man tries to bring his dead ex-lover back to life. And succeeds, for the most part. Only she never loved him as much as he loved her, and had honestly moved on before she died. And then there's some sort of retribution for breaking the laws of nature, or magic, or both, but as soon as the woman appeared...wham. Brick wall.
3) (Untitled) - A xenofic about griffins. Who are in the Frankfurt Zoo. And are sentient. And of course, at some point someone realizes they are sentient, but then we hit the brick wall. I haven't the faintest idea how to bring this about, or what to do about it afterwards, or if I should just leave it where it is and make it a tragedy.
4) (Untitled) - I haven't even started a draft of this one, it's just a loosely connected set of ideas about psychic detectives, who do not solve supernatural mysteries but instead go to great length to conceal their powers and just use them to have an edge in solving normal mysteries. Until something different happens, like a sudden slew of murders among espers, and probably some sort of conspiracy...because I haven't started writing it, there are still more doors than walls.
*Yes, most of these are untitled. I'm worse with titles than I am with endings.
I am very good at beginning stories. Not so good at finishing them. Usually I get about halfway through, then realize that a new plot development changes the way everything was from the beginning. At this point, I can either a) Keep writing and go back and fix it later, or b) start all over again.
There is also what I term the Brick Wall, though the more conventional imagery is Writer's Block: The story is going along just fine, until all of a sudden everything just stops. The story is not over, and nothing is resolved, but you are just about to enter the third act, into the deeper machinations and eventual resolutions of things you haven't thought out clearly yet, but assumed you would cross that bridge when you came to it, and...wham. No bridge, but a brick wall.
The sum of my major works to date, all ending in brick walls:
1) (Untitled*) - probably my oldest story, which has existed in my head in some form or another since I was thirteenish. Of course, what I have now hardly bears any resemblence to what I had then. There are wizards, and one of the major character is an assassin, and that's about it. This story is like a canvas that has been painted over and repainted so many times, it cannot help but be distorted by the colors and textures of what it once was. I am considering peeling it all of, tossing it aside, and starting fresh. Only I've tried that, and somehow, the story always comes back to me. Maybe this time for real. Until the next grand variation pops into my head, and I think, Maybe this time it will work.
2) "Glass and Bone" - a sort of steampunky thing that may or may not also have magic in-universe. That may or may not be in the same universe as story 1. A man tries to bring his dead ex-lover back to life. And succeeds, for the most part. Only she never loved him as much as he loved her, and had honestly moved on before she died. And then there's some sort of retribution for breaking the laws of nature, or magic, or both, but as soon as the woman appeared...wham. Brick wall.
3) (Untitled) - A xenofic about griffins. Who are in the Frankfurt Zoo. And are sentient. And of course, at some point someone realizes they are sentient, but then we hit the brick wall. I haven't the faintest idea how to bring this about, or what to do about it afterwards, or if I should just leave it where it is and make it a tragedy.
4) (Untitled) - I haven't even started a draft of this one, it's just a loosely connected set of ideas about psychic detectives, who do not solve supernatural mysteries but instead go to great length to conceal their powers and just use them to have an edge in solving normal mysteries. Until something different happens, like a sudden slew of murders among espers, and probably some sort of conspiracy...because I haven't started writing it, there are still more doors than walls.
*Yes, most of these are untitled. I'm worse with titles than I am with endings.
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