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Monday, 12 May 2008
CULT FUCKTION!
Still stuck on Cult Fiction. I've spent a small fortune on e-bay buying jewellery because of how stuck I am on Cult Fiction. I've read about films and dead babies in boxes and listened to narcissist (I'm finding them everywhere – that's focus for you) Austrians who keep their daughters locked up in basements because "she was enjoying herself too much" and "was not obedient". I could just about grasp that one, but not why he'd then fathered 7 children by her. Perhaps it was a punishment. "I'll show you you can't go out partying, my girl. Have some children – that will smarten your ideas up."
But I digress.
I think it would be fair to say that never in the history of my own writing have I ever had problems like this before.
It's tempting to believe it's just the old pointlessness thing. You know, the negative swamp of 'everybody hates me, think I'll go eat worms'. But, hell, I've experienced that before, time without number. You go into the slump, you mope about, you get grumpy, then angry, then you face up to the fact that no-one owes you anything and you stop feeling sorry for yourself, get the work done and move on.
But this motherfucker. Jesus, it's like drawing teeth, only not as much fun.
What I'm experiencing is an odd combination of having nothing I want to say along with a bad-tempered 'Oh fuck off and die.'
I had a glimpse of insight a couple of weeks back, when we went to see Nicholas Roeg (film director, for those not conversant) talking with his long-time screenwriter.
It wasn't exactly disappointing but, as Max said today, I didn't feel as if I actually learned anything.
Roeg was defensive answering his questions, old friend or no, and we didn't really get much out of him. Paradoxically, he was better with questions from the audience, but there wasn't really enough of them to draw him out. I think maybe if the evening had been allowed to run a while longer we might have hit more pay dirt.
But it did make me wonder what exactly was making him so defensive and eventually I came to the conclusion that he was probably just plain sick of 'justifying' his work.
It's not that his friend was asking him difficult questions, but I think he really didn't want to be boxed in by how people liked to categorise him, and he markedly didn't want to tell people what to think about his work. In short, he made the films and it was up to you what you got from them.
I feel that something similar is happening with me and DANNY.
I'm getting sick of writing clumsy big clues to nudge people in the right direction, and I'm absolutely sick to death of trying to give people a 'handle' on it so they won't be scared away or completely baffled by what they're (not) seeing.
This is the real root of my disgruntlement. Why the fuck am I spending all my time trying to make my work look non-threatening and more 'normal' (read mediocre) when the very last thing I want my work to be is non-threatening and mediocre? I suddenly feel very bolshie about having to explain everything all the time: You don't get it? You can't be bothered taking a risk on something unknown? Fine, then fuck off and buy something from the New Age section.
See? This is not good. This is what is called a conflict of interest. I'm supposed to sit down and write something that every fibre of my being is crying out 'No, no, NO' to.
Which is why I'm getting nowhere. And why I should give this to Max to do. But I despair at the copy he writes for DANNY. He makes fabulous visuals, but when he's writing copy the man can't leave hyperbole alone. He loves to smack 'em between the eyes, and he is positively cruel to adjectives. It always comes out sounding like a trailer for a Joel Silver movie but with more sex. Either that or it's full of punning humour. Christ, it's not a fucking Carry On movie, you know.
I know I'm being beyond difficult here, downright bloody-minded and ungrateful, but I just can't seem to resolve this. I think I'm hanging onto too many things. I want to write the copy, but I don't. I want him to write the copy, but I don't.
Result? No copy.
Won't do. Will not do.
I'm only writing this blog because I'm sitting staring at the computer (forcefully stopped myself from doing anything else) and getting nowhere. I've written loads of stuff – and I don't like any of it. I figured if I wrote this blog it might crystallize something, clear my mind, and I might see a chink of what to do with this.
I'm beginning to think something drastic is called for. Certainly if I don't get something soon DANNY 1's launch in the U.S. is going to go seriously over schedule.
I think maybe I need to stop thinking of how to 'sell' it. It's obviously gone past the point of no return for me. Just done too much of it. If they don't get it by now, they ain't gonna get it and, frankly, I am obviously well beyond caring.
I think it's that that's making me feel like I'm being 'forced' to write yet another school essay on The Subversion of Genre in Chancery Stone's DANNY, or Why DANNY is Not a Sex Novel – You Thick Shit.
I think maybe in order to get me interested I need to give myself something challenging to do with it. It may not be recognisable as "An introduction to The DANNY Quadrilogy" when it's finished but at least it will be finished.
So (sighs heavily), anyone up for the all-new Cult Fucktion – Seven Steps to Screwing Six-year-olds?
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Not yet discovered the wonder of The DANNY Quadrilogy? You can check out all the volumes in print now at Poison Pixie where you can read an extract of Volume 1 for FREE! Or start your collection on Amazon here where you can also buy a print sampler, entitled CULT Fiction, containing an introduction to the DANNY series and an excerpt from Volume 1, for only £2.99.
You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY's various trailers and ads) here or you can see the same material on the Poison Pixie film site where you can also hear our Mr Scratchmann read his delightful comic verse in his podcasts.
Lastly, there is an independent DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone's DANNY where anyone is welcome to go along and chat about the book till their guts bust.
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