Echoes in a Hollow Space

Copied from hominysnark.

01. Comment to this entry saying 'ICONS!' and I will pick 6 of your icons.
02. Make an entry in your own journal and talk about the icons I picked.

And here are the icons she asked me about:

1. moppet




This is my inner child, aged 2 or 3, caught in the act of "helping" to make breakfast. No one has smeared grease across her face, that's just the way her freckles presented themselves back in the day.

2. trenchcoat



This is from this Diane Arbus photograph. This young guy is all spiffed up in his trenchcoat and fedora and probably thinks he looks pretty cool, but she's probably taking a picture of him because she thinks he looks funny. There's an innocence in his expression that's quite touching to me—maybe I'll give Arbus the benefit of the doubt and say she saw it, too. To me, this is a symbol of sincerity in the face of irony.

3. le monkey de suck



I use this for "suck monkey" sometimes and sometimes as an example of seemingly good ideas that go horribly, horribly wrong. This was a marionette somebody had posted pictures of on a website (available for children's shows). It is one seriously scary, creepy mama jama. Here's another shot of the dear thing:



4. daredevil kiss



I got this one from this magazine cover from 1940. One of the stories listed on the cover is "That Daredevil Kiss." It's my emblem of frothy/girlie stuff. You might also want to check out this cool website.

5. thunderbolt



I found this one when I was writing my alternate universe steampunk novel, A Rain of Angels. I particularly like the detail of the Indian standing on the ground as if yelling, "Hey, what they hell--?" Thunderbolt is the name of one of Frank Reade's airships. Frank Reade was a fictional character in a series of dime novels for boys written by a series of different writers starting in 1876. I guess he was quite popular back then, but he didn't get as much wuffie as Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Not continental enough, I guess. You also might want to check out this website.

6. SC vs. the Martians




hominysnark said, "That one's probably self-explanatory, but you know I had to go there."

Yes, she did have to go there because she's into obscure, very bad movies just like I am. And Santa Claus Versus the Martians is one of the highest quality truly bad movies in existence—and also one of my favorite episodes of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. The jokes practically write themselves, folks! Truly wonderful horribleness. I use this as an example of schlockiness and also as "alternate Christimas" icon. This icon is also from Santa Claus Versus the Martians:

Random quote of the day:



"Cats and monkeys — monkeys and cats — all human life is there!

—Henry James, The Madonna of the Future



( Illustrated version. )


Really, I think I must dedicate this one to matociquala.

matociquala has stimulated many conversations with her post on what we're born with and what we learn.

As my post of my early writing shows, I always had a flair for dialogue. (That's a joke, in case you're wondering.)

What I did have early on was an appreciation for words and how to string them together. Reading and writing things down came easy to me. Movies in my head came easy, although it took some time to learn how to convey them to others. I'm still learning that one. I became aware at a certain point that building characters was a mysterious and natural process for me and I like to think I do a decent job with them. Eventually, I think I developed an okay feel for dialogue.

It was a long time before the plot monkey would ride on my shoulders without biting or doing something unspeakable down my back. Every once in a while he still does something unspeakable--but such is the nature of monkeys. The description thing is always going to give me fits--too much, too little, connecting all those bright shiny scenes with something that doesn't read either like pedestrian drivel or throbbing membranes. All that. Pace and rhythm and drama-without-melodrama. Work, work, work. And more work. And continue to work, world without end, amen. Learning to move beyond cliches and comfort zones--a continuing biggie. Learning to stick my neck out and say, "To hell with it, this is what I need to write." The biggest. Work and work and work.