wolfing out

Back into it again, writing this werewolf thing, which i haven’t touched since last Thursday and which i’d like to have done by this Thursday. Got 9,000 words in there today and it’s only 630, but Boardwalk Empire is on tonight, which is an awesome new show, and then I think Bored to Death is back and probably something else, so i’ll have at least two hours lost. Anycase, that puts me at 20,000 words, which is most of the way done, i think. The next part is probably about 5,000 words of poetry [yeah, i know,  but it’ll work, i think], and then somewhere around 10,000 words of a single uninterrupted dialogue, which is going to be a real challenge, but i’m already really excited for it. The structure’s really difficult for this one and it’s going to be very strange to read but i’m enjoying it.

I’ll try to break it down a bit, partially to give me a better handle on what i’m doing. Most of this novel is drifting dialogue by nameless people. By drifting i mean that there are only the words of their conversation and nothing else. And, yeah, most of the novel is like that which will probably make for an unpleasant read but i don’t care because i’m a genius. Then there are bits given in sentence fragments, just punching images into the reader. Then there are places where a single sentence stretches for a few pages. While, still, at other places the story is given more traditionally, but still very heavy on dialogue. This is probably 2/3rds of the novel or something like that and it’s just voices of the townspeople and their reactions to the murders happening over the course of, say, one year, or so. Throughout this bit there is a teenage love story told the only way that teenage love can be told: by using poetry. The final part will be told through found tapes of a diagnostic interview with a psychologist and the man who committed the murders. That last bit is the uninterrupted dialogue which i’d like to go for, yeah, about 10,000 words.

Taking a lot of chances with it and it’s dangerously convoluted and potentially stupidly experimental, but i’m enjoying it, my second novel, my first horror novel, and only maybe the fourth horror story i’ve ever written. But, like i’ve said before, i don’t know if what i think is horror counts. Like this, no idea if it’s scary, but i think it is, not because of the murders, but because of all these other things that i find terrifying. And, like everything, it’s about language and that’s why everything is in dialogue, so in many ways it’s very similar to Noir: A Love Story, but, at the same time, it’s drastically different, not just stylistically, but also thematically. While the first, ultimately, i think, is about hope, this is about despair, while the first has a center, this one is empty. That’s what’s frightening to me, and i love it.

Been listening to Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony No. 3 for most of the day, which is also called Sorrowful Songs. It’s devastatingly beautiful. Listen.