Stuck in a quagmire with novel

Now, I’m researching plausibility theory. A part of me feels like I need to move forward,  but I am stalled, tweaking, endlessly, to the introduction, back to the middle, then to the end, then back and forth, and now the introduction, tweaking the opening lines more, because I decided to go for a slightly different tone that has become more the flavor. Simone De Beauvoir. She intrudes because she has integrated into the character’s mind, into the essence of the novel. I wasn’t going for this extreme of feminism, but sometimes the work draws a breath, takes a hold and informs the author in ways that are mysteriously profound.  The problem is I’ve got too many obstacles, impediments I’m trying to circumvent. But maybe I shouldn’t be. De Beauvoir is in my head, at each step. And in these moments I feel like I want to think logically rather than ambiguously or mysteriously. I want a plan, but I don’t exactly have one. De Beauvoir suggests men plan accordingly, set goals and reach them in purposeful ways. Men transcend, so that even if they should at one point get stuck in the quagmire, they are more likely to free themselves and continue on. As for the female, “Her desire, as we have seen, is much more ambiguous:  she wishes, in a contradictory fashion, to have this transcendence, which is to suppose that she at once respects it and denies it, that she intends at once to throw herself into it and keep it within herself.”  If I could attain transcending, maybe I have and don’t know it,  I could ignore the minor details, unmoor my mind of the messy, the plausibility theory. Maybe not.  I am not a pure feminist myself insomuch as I am a female and aware of my gender and the idiosyncrasies and frailties associated with it.

‘Nightmare’ and ‘The Fall’ by Eleanor Hooker

nice

Poethead

Nightmare

 
A cobalt night in blue relief
and the hunt begins.
The green grass black
and the talking baby frightens me.
Bug eyed horrors hover in
our shadows, lingering, carnivorous.
Wailing now to let him stay,
He stumbles after, the talking baby.
  
Drop under the yickety yackety
picket fence. A treacherous fork
in the road. I know well the dangers.
Where I go the baby follows. I urge him
back to the black green grass, behind the
 yickety yackety picket fence.
“You’ll be safer there” I promise.
  
He crawls back under with pleas
to follow. We neither saw the pit
that he fell in, in velvet silence. A
small hand held the edge but
slipped away beneath my grip.
A cobalt night in blue relief and
And the hunt begins.
  

Nightmare is © Eleanor Hooker
 

First published in The Stinging Fly and subsequently The Shadow Owner’s Companion

The…

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Novel updates 

Sylvie work is slow going, 30k words –odd movement. Not so sure of the direction, long term, but MC is interesting enough, and becoming moreso, as is S’s  offbeat mute son, a few neighbors, and her husband. I guess they are all off which might reflect my own strange mindset. Need to submit a short story (maybe a chapter from novel) to a couple top tier magazines who asked to see more of my work–once I get in, doors are more likley to open. 

My latest in Hartford Courant

Hillary Prosecution Fails

Harangue about the Benghazi Hearing, above.

Update on my fiction below:

Accepted for a Dec publication in Literary Orphans. Slow going on Ivoryton novel 85 pgs in. Interruptions include daily other miscellaneous, unavoidables. I switched pov and tense, going with traditional and feeling more comfortable now, easier managing, overall. Finished Stage Eleven –so so. Dorian Gray. Loved it. Now halfway thru Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. A feminist work helps with my work–existentialism. Women are objective, Others, dreamy and mere perceptions of a potential self, whereas men are subjective, grounded in reality, aware of purpose from a young age, and the superior sex. Intriguing in parts. Overdone in parts. And somewhat  irrelevant in parts…of course, seventy years later.

That’s all folks : )