Tuesday, January 29th, 2008

Time	Event
8:46a	Blunden, "Preparations For Victory" Preparations For Victory My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags The valley; flinch not you, my body young. At these great shouting smokes and snarling jags Of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung The dice that claims you. Manly move among These ruins, and what you must do, do well; Look, here are gardens, there mossed boughs are hung With apples who bright cheeks none might excel, And there's a house as yet unshattered by a shell. "I'll do my best," the soul makes sad reply, "And I will mark the yet unmurdered tree, The tokens of dear homes that court the eye, And yet I see them not as I would see. Hovering between, a ghostly enemy. Sickens the light, and poisoned, withered, wan, The least defiled turns desperate to me." The body, poor unpitied Caliban, Parches and sweats and grunts to win the name of Man. Days or eternities like swelling waves Surge on, and still we drudge in this dark maze; The bombs and coils and cans by strings of slaves Are borne to serve the coming day of days; Pale sleep in slimy cellars scarce allays With its brief blank the burden. Look, we lose; The sky is gone, the lightless, drenching haze Of rainstorms chills the bone; earth, air are foes, The black fiend leaps brick-red as life's last picture goes. --Edmund Blunden, 1918 (Comment on this)
11:41a	in the Mood for Lerv I've seen various articles about how to write erotica that tout "getting in the mood." One should wear nice lingerie (men, too? Intriguing!), take a lovely scented bubblebath, light candles, play romantic music, float into a trance, and then let your muse flow. Perhaps you should write longhand, in purple ink, on fine paper. Nope, not me. I've now written the first sexual encounter in the my new novel. Let me set the scene for you! I remained at home, in my bedroom. I wore red plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a stretched-out tee shirt and another, man's tee shirt with long sleeves over it. Alas, the tee did not belong to a boyfriend. I'd bought it for myself. Also, I wore fuzzy socks. I was utterly laryngitic, and drank lots of tea, which I will admit is somewhat romantic. If your cup isn't decorated with a kitty cat. I sat on my couch. I clicked away at the laptop, listening first to the electronic stylings of Tricky, then some Rammstein, i.e., a rough-voiced man bellowing in German, to wake me up. I stopped to eat lunch--not oysters or anything aphrodisiac, but lentil soup. I rushed through the end of the scene, because I was growing tired. Later, I went back and edited before I went on with the chapter. In short, I wrote the sex scene like I write every other scene. I think it's important to note that. Erotica is just writing. (Comment on this)

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