katallison

So I posted something earlier today about getting back into writing, and in a comment, cesperanza pointed out that I'm really a "Method" writer, one who (like a Method actor) spends a lot of time upfront thinking through characters' emotions and motivations, and then has to struggle to figure out what the characters should do to express those; whereas she writes in what she calls the "British" method, analogous to the great British actors who stand *here* and say the line and then walk over *there* and do that piece of business, and work back from there to discern and build in the emotional underpinnings.

And now I'm fascinated by this, because I just assumed that everyone goes about writing in the same way I do, more or less, and I'm having fun trying to get my head around what it would be like to simply have some scenes in mind, and write them out, without having already done a lot of sort of preparatory emotional outlining to guide the process. And because I have a ton of other stuff I should be doing, I thought that instead I'd -- that's right, do a poll!

[Poll #511623]

Stuff that is Good:

(a) Perfectly beautiful day out, will get up to 71, and I'm going out to my brother and sister-in-law's place for some quality hanging-out time.

(b) nifra_idril's recap of The Fast and the Furious made me hoot with laughter, in part because -- OK, my brother? the one referenced above? the uber-bookish academic/cerebral geek, who (1) though he knows about slash, claims not to get it at all, and (2) never had a driver's license until he was in his 30s? This guy is a *total* FatF *fanboy*. He has watched it I don't know how many times. He has tried to explain the underlying themes to me in archetypal terms. And I am so, so tempted to send Nifra's recap to him, except--no, better not. But *heeeeeee*.

(c) Mr. P., when he came over last night, brought me a baggie of -- wait for it -- DARK M&Ms!! I shit you not! They're a mix of navy, dark red, purple, black and grey, and OMG HOW COOL IS IT THAT THERE ARE GREY M&Ms IN THE WORLD! It makes me so very happy that there is DARK CANDY in the world, dark angsty candy, candy the color of a bruise! Ahem.

(d) I went over to my old friend J's house this morning, to help her 11th grade son work on his college application statements, and I've been sort of out of touch with J for a while and hadn't seen her son in, like, five or six years, so imagine my surprise to discover that he's grown into a tall lanky guy who looks startlingly like a younger and thinner Matthew McConaughey, topped with perfect RayK hair. Reprise the "I shit you not" -- PERFECT RayK hair, like it had been lifted right off CKR's head and set down on this really *incredibly* good-looking kid. Who is also a brilliant math/science prodigy, pondering recruiting letters from MIT and U of Chicago and Stanford, and also very funny and sweet. And yes, it's probably a good thing there are standards and codes about not molesting the 34-years-younger-than-one sons of one's old buddies. But a woman can *look*, at least. Golly.

The problem with trying to write a post of any length or complexity in the tired wambly just-before-bed interval is that one may sit down at the computer with a nice orderly mental list of things one wants to say, but in the stormy seas of composition, one's mental list develops some leaks, and starts pitching and yawing and taking on water, and important items slide off the deck and into the sea, lost to view, and then one wakes up with a jolt at 2 in the morning and says to oneself, "Self, you frelling moron, in describing things people kindly gave you this weekend you completely forgot to mention what you meant to start out with when you sat down, namely the lovely little box of miniature liqueur-filled chocolate bottles given to you by Ms. popfantastic, getting to spend time with whom was absolutely one of the highlights of the weekend, and whose gift you have already been sampling with great pleasure while thinking about what an amazingly nice person she was to bring it for you, and did we mention you are a frelling moron," and then one hauls ass out of bed to write up a 2 a.m. entry of guilt and remorse and run-on sentences.

(And the bottles are indeed wee and lovely and chocolately and filled with all different kinds of liquors and liqueurs, and there is a label on the box they came in that says "Legal Only Where Liquor Filled Confectionary Permitted Under State Law," which I love both for its tautology and also because, having no *idea* if Liquor Filled Confectionary is Permitted under the laws of my state, I feel all racy and reckless and scofflaw-like consuming them. And thank you again, popfantastic, you are a gem and a delight.)

Gnarrr. Have hit an inconvenient plot-snarl in my dS Sekrit Santa story; I'm either going to have to think my way through it, or else do a little distracting sleight-of-hand around it and hope nobody notices.

I tell you what, realism-whore though I am, I feel very lucky at times to be writing in dS, where there's no canonic precedent for, say, slavish adherence to actual police procedure, or pettifogging nitpickery about the laws of space, time, and physics, or whatever. One can simply give the "magical realism!" wand an airy wave. And it's nice to remember that the show itself often tended to use its A-plots with a certain negligence, treating them as a pretext for the *important* stuff--character interaction, relationship development, dialogue, etc.

As a viewer, I've never minded this at all--it takes grand-mal plotline incoherence along the lines of later-season XF to really put me off. And as a writer whose default story line is So, these two guys sit around and talk about stuff, and who is deeply impaired in the development of plottiness, I cherish it.

At the risk of jinxing myself, I plan to get prodigious amounts of writing done this long weekend. There are only two Thanksgivingy social events on the calendar--first, dinner tonight with Mr. P, featuring:
--a pork loin which will have many incisions made all over its surface, into which will be inserted much slivered garlic and rosemary, the whole thing then roasted to a fine crackling turn;
--a gratin of creamed leeks and fingerling potatoes, with gruyere;
--brussels sprouts, halved, steamed briefly, and then sauteed with finely chopped toasted walnuts and a dash of sesame oil;
--a compote of dried cranberries and chopped dried apricots, simmered with brandy and some orange zest;
--a bottle of excellent red wine.

Note the complete absence of turkey! Because that's just the kind of wild and crazy rebel I am! Hah!

And also because I shall get turkey on Saturday, when debchan, lapillus, jackiekjono, and I will gather for consumption of Deb's leftovers and viewage of various things, which should be great fun.

Other than those, and the obligatory visit to aged parental units, my agenda for the weekend is simple: Write. Lots.

My best wishes to all of you celebrating Thanksgiving for a peaceful and relaxing holiday, devoid of familial strife, travel mishaps, or subsequent digestive upset.

ETA: And if you haven't already, go read Laura's, Lum's, and Cereta's entries, because they express much more eloquently than I could the gratitude I feel toward fandom and toward all of you.