Ben Peek (benpeek) wrote,
Ben Peek

vegemite lasts long after the used by date.

it's true about vegemite, you know. if we start coating our dead in it we'll be able to preserve history perfectly.

anyhow, just feel like a general post today.

i'm closing in on the i-hate-my-thesis/novel moment. i've spent the last three months writing, rewriting, researching, patching, scratching, and doing whatever in a fairly work intensive way, which, when added to the two years previous of research, starts, jumps, writing, and throwing away that i've been doing on it, suddenly adds up to a whole lot of time in my head. in the last month i've gone nowhere in the real world, started asking for animals to ritually slaughter, gotten generally less tolerating of idiots and more anti-social, and disappeared to an extent that friends have started sending bouquets of flowers to my mother, telling her that they're sorry for her loss. in return, she's begun sending them thank you cards.

last night brought the night of hideous doubt for the work. it wasn't particularly fun and i don't recommend it. the primary reason for hideous doubt was the mosaic structure i decided upon. it's the kind of structure that demands a lot (and has you feeling as if you've given a lot) but which, in cold word numbers, denies you with taunting. it's the kind of structure that makes you think, 'oh, fuck, i've repeated myself with this character and theme and oh fuck have i repeated it throughout?' the end result has you looking down at your work, knowing that all you're waiting for someone--anyone--to give you the bad news.

but that was last night. i do not have hideous doubt now. i have a faint sense of dislike that means that in a week, once i finish this rewriting, it'll be time to take a break.

i have tossed the title a walking tour of the dreaming city, finally. actually, i did that shortly after whenever i mentioned it last. at the moment, i'm calling it sydney, and i suspect it'll change soon enough.

titles are one of those things i'm not very good at. they're either serviceable, causing people either no love or no hate, or they make people fall to the ground in mocking laughter. i look at books and short stories and albums with truly fine titles and i realise that, clearly, a gene has gone missing in me. we're all just going to have to suffer for it until i can hire a brilliant and cute young thing to sit around and come up with beautiful titles for me. (which, you know, i'm sure won't have a thing to do with my stories, as i've never thought of them being beautiful.)

so, there you go. i bet you're all fascinated.
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