Conflict (What a Novel Idea)
August 2nd 2007 03:01
Haunted.
Stalked.
I once was, years ago. I felt constantly watched and chased through my dreams. I soaked myself in vampire lore and thus all messages became twisted in immortal blood. I gave my stalker a preternatural face, the glittering eyes and shining hair of a fictional character. The further I chased this supernatural dream, the harder he ran. I researched his many names, the separate authors who had been entranced by this one haunting figure, and I gave unto him his many names. The most common of which, is 'The Old One'.
Then, some time later, I began to refer to a real person as 'The Old One'. I began to see a depth I had never imagined, percieve a vast ocean within that had been hidden from me. I saw the glittering threads of our history. I saw how they twine, how the conflict between us over the ages has, indeed, created a fetching pattern.
I never drew the two together. I never saw the connection. Now, however, I look upon the supernatural signs with jaded eyes. I still believe in the preternatural blood drinker, but now I see my folly, I see the difference, between you and he.
Because now my dreams are full of the chase, and my waking mind refuses to be free of you. The spaces of my mind not owned by me are filled with your laughter - when I feel watched, observed through windows or while about the land, it is REAL eyes I feel.
It always was. This is what I felt then - so now I feel it again. No supernatural being is this - it is a physical one, with a heart that beats and blood in its viens like mine. One that can be killed, and for this life, stopped. Oh, how many years did I blame the unseen! Was I so young, so niave? Or have you always been so good at your game? Have you always been so skilled at hiding yourself from me? I remember once, in vision, I chased you down. I saw you through ether. And you knew I was there - You stopped, looked up, you locked eyes with my fetch. That was when you knew, you watched me as I watched you.
That was when you realized how great my power. And how easy to exploit my weakness. As I grew, I grew away from you, in all respect. You searched for a chink in my armour, but my heart was closed. No way in.
Until, by accident, one day you discovered my secret. The guilt attached to it, and yes, some vestige of guilt for you and your treatment too. Then did you laugh and I hear that maniacal laughter still. At least I am no longer misled - I know that The Old One is now one and the same. Whatever fantasies I created were no where near as strange as the truth. The eyes I've felt, the dreams Ive had - Its you, its always been you.
And sometimes, It takes the perfection of feeling in a day to bring realization home. On a dark yet mild day like today I would honour the Gods once. Wear robes and fill the house with candles. Try to write down the secrets of ritual. And I would feel the eyes. So I do again.
And though this conflict burns me - that between my passion, my guilt and you - it is like a festering blister, something that continues to irritate and build and grow until FINALLY it bursts, is set free, and I write, write, write all my conflict out on the page, create beautiful and flawlessly strong characters to deal with it for me, send them out to battle on painted pages, and decide as god who may be victorious and who may not. Who may have the final triumph.
So first. Thankyou. Ouch, that hurts doesnt it? Yes, thankyou for grabbing my mind in your claws and twisting and giving me so much dark inspiration. Thanks for making me paranoid, and forcing me to constantly check over my shoulder. You have made me Queen of the adage mouthed by those with quick reflexes - "How do you always know you're about to be attacked?" "Just always assume you will be"
And second. Oh, you enjoy being the coward dont you? You enjoy your teasing, your twisting, making me half insane because I cant trust myself - Youre that damn good, Im never sure of anything. Not sure enough to make it real, to seek you out. I know you love it. But, oh, how terrified you must be of me! To play so skillfully, and never ever let me know, you must be so afraid of the final face off. To have used the same tricks for so long you must surely be terrified of the conclusion. Im not. Thats the great difference between us. Im waiting for you. I have been for a long time. I have a new athame, and this ones waiting to taste YOU. As soon as you conquer your great and lasting fear of me....Of course. Wouldnt want you to be at all uncomfortable. Not at all.
Im sorry to the vampire. Sorry I assigned you so much blame. Oh, I know you were there, there are things that will never be explained and I await your whispers far off in the future. The sharing of blood enables me to see where you are, what cities you play in. What is between us can wait. You do, after all, have all the time in the world. I merely bid you remember I do not. Be there for me when I need you.....Our love demands that at least.
And me....Im going to feel those eyes upon me. Im going to track the stalker through his own desire. Im going to burn with conflict and guilt, as I deserve, driven half mad by ideas ideas ideas......Ive heard both King and Pike moan, how often they get asked the dreaded question "where do you get your ideas?" I have yet to be plauged with this question, yet I assume, for all writers, it is the same - the ideas permeate your existance. They beat your skull so hard and fast you can barely register them let alone write them down. Some stick. Some wont leave you alone. And thus you draw on pain and conflict and fill your charcters with it until they spew life like, onto the page.
This is how a novel is born, after all. This is the distinct process. I am not at critical mass yet, but soon perhaps, I shall be there. Just a little more conflict.....And I may have a novel.
Stalked.
I once was, years ago. I felt constantly watched and chased through my dreams. I soaked myself in vampire lore and thus all messages became twisted in immortal blood. I gave my stalker a preternatural face, the glittering eyes and shining hair of a fictional character. The further I chased this supernatural dream, the harder he ran. I researched his many names, the separate authors who had been entranced by this one haunting figure, and I gave unto him his many names. The most common of which, is 'The Old One'.
Then, some time later, I began to refer to a real person as 'The Old One'. I began to see a depth I had never imagined, percieve a vast ocean within that had been hidden from me. I saw the glittering threads of our history. I saw how they twine, how the conflict between us over the ages has, indeed, created a fetching pattern.
I never drew the two together. I never saw the connection. Now, however, I look upon the supernatural signs with jaded eyes. I still believe in the preternatural blood drinker, but now I see my folly, I see the difference, between you and he.
Because now my dreams are full of the chase, and my waking mind refuses to be free of you. The spaces of my mind not owned by me are filled with your laughter - when I feel watched, observed through windows or while about the land, it is REAL eyes I feel.
It always was. This is what I felt then - so now I feel it again. No supernatural being is this - it is a physical one, with a heart that beats and blood in its viens like mine. One that can be killed, and for this life, stopped. Oh, how many years did I blame the unseen! Was I so young, so niave? Or have you always been so good at your game? Have you always been so skilled at hiding yourself from me? I remember once, in vision, I chased you down. I saw you through ether. And you knew I was there - You stopped, looked up, you locked eyes with my fetch. That was when you knew, you watched me as I watched you.
That was when you realized how great my power. And how easy to exploit my weakness. As I grew, I grew away from you, in all respect. You searched for a chink in my armour, but my heart was closed. No way in.
Until, by accident, one day you discovered my secret. The guilt attached to it, and yes, some vestige of guilt for you and your treatment too. Then did you laugh and I hear that maniacal laughter still. At least I am no longer misled - I know that The Old One is now one and the same. Whatever fantasies I created were no where near as strange as the truth. The eyes I've felt, the dreams Ive had - Its you, its always been you.
And sometimes, It takes the perfection of feeling in a day to bring realization home. On a dark yet mild day like today I would honour the Gods once. Wear robes and fill the house with candles. Try to write down the secrets of ritual. And I would feel the eyes. So I do again.
And though this conflict burns me - that between my passion, my guilt and you - it is like a festering blister, something that continues to irritate and build and grow until FINALLY it bursts, is set free, and I write, write, write all my conflict out on the page, create beautiful and flawlessly strong characters to deal with it for me, send them out to battle on painted pages, and decide as god who may be victorious and who may not. Who may have the final triumph.
So first. Thankyou. Ouch, that hurts doesnt it? Yes, thankyou for grabbing my mind in your claws and twisting and giving me so much dark inspiration. Thanks for making me paranoid, and forcing me to constantly check over my shoulder. You have made me Queen of the adage mouthed by those with quick reflexes - "How do you always know you're about to be attacked?" "Just always assume you will be"
And second. Oh, you enjoy being the coward dont you? You enjoy your teasing, your twisting, making me half insane because I cant trust myself - Youre that damn good, Im never sure of anything. Not sure enough to make it real, to seek you out. I know you love it. But, oh, how terrified you must be of me! To play so skillfully, and never ever let me know, you must be so afraid of the final face off. To have used the same tricks for so long you must surely be terrified of the conclusion. Im not. Thats the great difference between us. Im waiting for you. I have been for a long time. I have a new athame, and this ones waiting to taste YOU. As soon as you conquer your great and lasting fear of me....Of course. Wouldnt want you to be at all uncomfortable. Not at all.
Im sorry to the vampire. Sorry I assigned you so much blame. Oh, I know you were there, there are things that will never be explained and I await your whispers far off in the future. The sharing of blood enables me to see where you are, what cities you play in. What is between us can wait. You do, after all, have all the time in the world. I merely bid you remember I do not. Be there for me when I need you.....Our love demands that at least.
And me....Im going to feel those eyes upon me. Im going to track the stalker through his own desire. Im going to burn with conflict and guilt, as I deserve, driven half mad by ideas ideas ideas......Ive heard both King and Pike moan, how often they get asked the dreaded question "where do you get your ideas?" I have yet to be plauged with this question, yet I assume, for all writers, it is the same - the ideas permeate your existance. They beat your skull so hard and fast you can barely register them let alone write them down. Some stick. Some wont leave you alone. And thus you draw on pain and conflict and fill your charcters with it until they spew life like, onto the page.
This is how a novel is born, after all. This is the distinct process. I am not at critical mass yet, but soon perhaps, I shall be there. Just a little more conflict.....And I may have a novel.
| 76 |
| Vote |
subscribe to this blog
Comment by David
What I like most about this? It's intriguing.
It makes me want to read and know more. (And that's rare for me). Especially as to the identity of the real 'Old One'.
It also quickly establishes a mood/tone (and narrator's voice). I'm one of those people who will dismiss a novel in the first page or two if I don't like it.
My favourite lines are:
David ...
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Its a new method of working through my conflict....I know it inspires me, so I dont like to run from it....
The Identity of the Old One? Im not quite brave enough to tell anyone that here, for so many reasons. The most glaring of which is Im sure he's reading, my paranoia demands it. Also I do not feel the need to expose him, I have my own guilt after all....
On mild yet dark days like today that seem to be an indrawn breath I always feel like this, dark and poetic and thankful of all my inspirations, no matter how dark they may be.
And I love to write an entry in the journal, something personal and real yet with prose turn me into a character, because in the words I am god for my characters. If I turn myself into a character in my own narrative then thus I feel I have control.
An illusion of course. But if it furthers the writing its all worth it. I actually love this piece. Hidden meanings and circularity. Trick words. My favourite....
Thanks for appreciating it lovely....
Comment by Nickoftime's Sanity Corner
The Old One sounds pretty interesting and a lil creepy too! Would make for a great novel...
I love Anne Rice's chronicles, so I'm sure I'd love your novel as well!
Good luck with it..
Take care,
Nick
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Unfortunately that particular name is a little used! Im sure he'll get plenty of novels, in one way or the other.
Its a new way for me to deal with conflicts....Turning them into inspiration.
Comment by Miss Nomer
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Actually its both. But thats how I like it.
Comment by Miss Nomer
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
And Ash can take credit for my work any day!