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Sunday, October 19th, 2003
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3:05p
Arrghh. I hate that feeling where you're trying to write and the good stuff just won't come. I've been sitting in my room trying to get something I can post for  writingprojects and it's causing me pain! Usually I can't write properly unless I do it longhand but leaning on my bed (I don't have anything as sophisticated as a usuable table in my room btw) was beginning to hurt my elbows! So methought I'd give it a try down here on the 'puter. Usually writing up on the computer is my editing process, but we'll see.
I can't seem to write about anything except him. This bothers me slightly. Not that there's anything wrong with writing about love I suppose. I'm just not in that angsty place anymore where I can even consider writing about myself. Not that I ever did that much.
I've just been checking out Deviant Art. Man, I should draw more often. I really don't have the tools for successful computer art - like I'd still be drawing with the mouse and that, let me tell you, is a damn nightmare! - but the old fashioned pencil and paper approach is still appealing. Just takes longer. I've actually still got that portrait of Spike from 'Buffy' to finish. Hey ho.
current mood:  hopeful
current music: Guards! Guards!::Terry Pratchett, read by Tony Robinson (1 comment |comment on this)
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6:51p - The Phoenix and the Schoolmaster - draft
September, and the afternoon is fading into the dying sun, taking the green smell of the leaves with it. The light seems melancholy and heavy across the backs of the few who still remain, occupying the off-white steps which lead up to the entrance, their relaxed and thoughtless sprawling adding somehow to the delapidated majesty of the place.
He can see them from his office window, just a few metres away. Thier unconscious beauty reaches him today and he smiles from above his paperwork. She has been making him think about the children he has in loco parentis, forcing him out of his jaded attitudes of thought, if only to understand how it is that she can have such power over him.
She hasn't knocked today, as he half expected her too. His body has been tensed since three-thirty waiting for it. Her visits have been less frequent recently. He misses her.
Only one contact today, one meeting of their eyes. She had caught him in the corridor at lunch, their casual glances locking together, making him hot and confused, sweat gathering under clothes suddenly heavy as lead, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She dropped her gaze first.
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Seasons have to be a theme here - because it fits in with the youth/age juxtaposition
Also elements. Could seasons and elements link up in a logical way?
Winter........................Air
Autumn......................Earth
Summer.....................Fire
Spring........................Water
She fires him back up again, hence 'Phoenix' (but hopefully not self-combustable!) Summer Also obvious sexual connotations. But also 'light', as a positive thing.
He's more like Air: cool, insubstantial, intangible, beneath a glamour. Winter?. Air can also be oppressive - and linked to Water.
Spring again belongs to her because she is youthful. I don't know why, but water seems the most logical to me here. Perhaps there is some element of renewal about water to me. (Looking through my notes I remember that water can also be very melancholy for me.)
Which leaves Autumn, which is appropriate because it's the season of decline and wisdom, when melancholy and thoughtfulness set in. (The return to the earth) Earth can also be hard, rocky - the man born of mountains - unmovable.
Now I'm worried that this will end up too contrived. They are only meant to be subtle markers. I read to much symbolic poetry!
current mood:  weird
current music: The Hounds of Winter::Sting (7 comments |comment on this)
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