Happy Purim, y’all!
I did not dress up today, because I had a lab to go to, but this is what I’m doing this evening:
That’s a hamantaschen-charoset mug cake (we had some left over – apricot and date – ‘those bits’ are poppy seeds), and it was delicious. And yes, that’s Eleven. I now know what the Pandorica is all about, and still not a fan.
However. It is a thirteenth, so we are here for the LATE Club… and the prompt is do you write in other formats (stageplay, screenplay, poetry, song, whatever) – if not, why not, and if so, why?
I used to write plays when I was… roughly between the ages of twelve and fourteen, going from the notebooks they ended up in and the handwriting.
Bunch of puppet plays for the clay marionettes my brother and I made of the Stingray characters. Sometimes we had more than four characters in frame at once, and enlisted friends (the brother’s – I didn’t have any at the time) to handle the surplus. I had a great time. I still have some of the puppets (somewhere), and some of the scripts. It’s not something you’re allowed to say about your siblings’ work on the whole, but I’m fairly sure he’d agree with me: those marionettes were osik’la and the plays matched. On the other hand, we did have a fairly successful puppet theater… with wheels on so we could move it from one set to the next.
Couple stage plays. One was about that random Egyptian princess who rescued Moses… tried performing it with the other girls from church, but it failed epically, as you’d expect from Rosalie-the-control-freak writing and organizing, and intensely talented, intensely artistic and creative other participants who don’t fall willingly into obsessions at every other turn. The other girls were – and are – remarkably sane, and brilliant and amazing human beings. Possibly this is because they avoided spending much time around me.
The other play I really was proud of. It was about a little girl spirited away by fairies, roughly three-quarters of it was in iambic pentameter, and it was predominantly about Queen Mab. With the same girls from church, tried filming it (because obviously stage wasn’t going to be a thing). I’ve got a few clips floating around all these years later (no idea where though) from the opening scene, with my wonderful longsuffering sister playing the child, and a girl who – at the time – I thought was the coolest human being ever to walk the earth playing Queen Mab, with loads of scary black eyeliner.
Comics. I think possibly once-and-a-half. The first time through was technically a Starlight comic, that ran to six pages and was unmistakably of the ’40s-’50s campy ‘golly gee Batman’ school of comic writing. I had a blast. It sucked, but I had a blast. And a cartoon about an unnamed Jedi, that was going to be all deep and meaningful and has been semi-abandoned on the grounds of I can’t draw lightsabers very well and I can’t draw humanoids recognizably. Plus I noticed too late that I was inking the dialogue in Aurebesh, thus making the whole thing slightly worse than useless.
Poetry. On and off. Acrostic – and non-acrostic – sonnets as Rasla Gul. Remind me to post the new one sometime. One creepy piece as Nasriel. Recently I’ve found a way of writing poetry as me, which has been weird but sorta fun: free verse (yes, Erin, Shendi prose) on the backs of bus tickets.
This is one of them – the one I’m easiest about sharing on the Shadows. Eh, it’s a random, and maybe I’ll chuck some of the others here, and maybe not.
I used to do plays because I could daydream about performing them. About ‘getting somewhere as a writer’ if you will. Poetry similar – poetry’s supposed to be the highest form of literature. But on the whole I write prose, mostly short stories, because I can do that, and because it’s enough work to feel worthwhile, and because I think in stories, so me writing a playscript is essentially me trying to simultaneously-translate a narrative that hasn’t even been written yet… into another language.
I think also I write prose because I finally woke up and realized I’m not writing ‘to be a good writer’, I’m writing to be a functioning human. I’d like to be good because I’m a perfectionist. I’d like to be read because if it’s good, you want to share it, no matter who wrote it. But whether I’m good, bad, read, or unread is technically irrelevant, because I do this primarily to keep the Blue House decluttered.
The bus ticket poems were a fluke, I think. I’m told they’re good. I find this implausible, because I didn’t write them the way I usually do; they just happened, and I watched. It’s easy, but when writing’s not challenging it’s not particularly fun, either.
April’s prompt – for which I will post on the 13th and with which you may do as you please – is Re-genre a short story/anecdote. Like those ‘Mrs. Doubtfire as a horror movie‘ or ‘The Shining as a kids’ comedy‘ trailers. Any story will do; tell me the plot of Red Eye as a romcom if it amuses you.
Thanks for reading. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m not sure I’m coherent.
PS: I extracted the Queen Mab script from my hyper-organized archives. Turns out that was kinda crap as well. Eh life.