Is Gatsby great?

Okay, so I was finally able to watch The Great Gatsby this morning.

I just got back a few minutes ago, and I have to say, this film is still haunting me. This is a good thing.

I'll admit to being a bit slow sometimes--for the first few minutes I thought it was over-staged, the movements of the actors too choreographed, but then I remembered that what we're seeing is the way Nick Carraway remembered the story, which may not be precisely what happened. That revelation sort of snapped it into focus for me, and when you watch the film, keep that in mind.

The cast was pitch-perfect. I've never had an opinion on Toby Maguire or Leonardo di Caprio before, having not seen much of their work, but they were both perfect choices for this film.

And I'll admit to being a sucker for a woman who can pull of the flapper look and this film had several--I lost my heart to Daisy (Carey Mulligan) just like Gatsby did. Gods, she was lovely.

The music was great. I thought I might have a problem with contemporary music being used on the soundtrack, but it was used effectively, I thought, and mixed with some vintage tunes when it was appropriate. I'm downloading the soundtrack album from ITunes right now. Loved the Lana del Rey song that was used throughout the soundtrack--it's a beautiful song anyway, but the way the chord progressions were incorporated into the ambient music was wonderful. As I said--haunting.

Yes, I've read the novel, several times, though it has been quite some time. But I was obsessed with it for a while. So, my expectations were quite high. This film met them.

Yes, I loved it. I recommend it highly. Go see it. I'm giving it an A+.  Perfect.

Do over and pre-staycation randomocity

I am now at the point in my first draft of The Sorcerer's Daughter where I felt the story went off the rails a bit.

Actually, I've been there for a few days now. It's like there's a wall there. I know there's a better way to tell the story from that point but I just couldn't see it. Today, though, my Muse finally gifted me with an idea that breeches the wall and will now allow me to continue. I came up with something that's quite economical--it solves multiple problems I was having at once and also propels the plot forward. Perfect. I hope. We'll have to wait and see. I'll be starting on it in a bit--I need to think a little more about what I'm going to be doing here, because it will have an impact on the story. A good impact, of course, but still, the ramifications have to be weighed.

I'm taking a couple of days off from work in addition to the holiday Monday, and working on this thing is going to be my primary activity. I want to make some significant progress on it--it's been stalled for too long.

Other plans--gonna make another attempt to see The Great Gatsby tomorrow morning. Hopefully this won't turn into another debacle and I'll actually get to see the thing this time.

Also, going to swing by an art supply store to get some mediums (yes, that's the proper plural, apparently, for what I'm getting--nobody calls them media for some reason). And some palette knives. And some more canvas boards. Maybe some brushes, too. Fortunately, all that stuff really doesn't cost all that much. I've finally found a hobby that doesn't set me back hundreds of dollars every time I need to get supplies for it.

I know you hate it when I talk about the weather, but it couldn't be more perfect here. Absolutely gorgeous outside. Hopefully it'll remain this way for a while.

So, for those of you in the US--any plans for the holiday weekend?

. . . and this is your opportunity to do something cool

My goddaughter was in a performance piece a while back called B!rdbra!ns, and she and her cast mates have an opportunity to perform it in New York City. They need ten thousand dollars to do this. You can click here to kick in a few bucks. And yes, I've contributed--I was actually the very first contributor. Anyways, you'll have my gratitude as well as everyone involved in the play if you clicked over and kicked even a little bit. At the very least share the link on your Facebook page or on Twitter or wherever.

A break in the storm Sunday afternoon randomocity

I went to visit the family this weekend.

I realized the other day I hadn't been there since xmas so I figured it was about time. Got back a few hours ago.

My dad is sick--I'm thinking it's an old-fashioned stomach virus. However, at his age something like that can get serious. I'll spare you the details, but I think he's dehydrated. He's going to see his doctor tomorrow, and I guess we'll find out more then.

And, as the title suggests, it's been storming here. I got in before the sky fell in--for once I didn't have to drive in a torrential rainstorm--but the lightning was truly impressive there, for a while. Hopefully that's over and we'll just be getting rain now, which is fine with me, as I'm not planning on going anywhere for a while.

I entered a friend of mine into a contest this restaurant was having on Facebook--they were looking to help struggling writers. The winner gets a free pizza every month for a year. Since my friend lives in the same general area as the place and she is a struggling writer I commented with her name, and she won! I know it's not much in the scheme of things but it makes me very happy that I was able to help her out, even a little. She was thrilled, too, so that makes me happy as well.

I haven't done any serious writing in a few days--I may do some later today. It's just been so busy at work that by the time I get home I have nothing left. I do think about what I'm writing all the time, though, making decisions, plotting things out, so I guess that counts, too. I'll find the time and the energy--I've been kind of luke-warm about my projects for a while. I think my Muse just needed a bit of a break--but I can feel her stirring again, stretching, getting warmed up, so I think I'll be ignoring the exhaustion and tapping away again very soon.

No spoilers here, but I watched several episodes of the last season of Doctor Who, and I will say this--Jenna-Louise Coleman is one seriously lovely young woman. Damn. Just saying. She's just my type, too.

Oh, well. On an even more mundane note, I'm doing laundry today, since I wasn't here to do it yesterday. Alert the media.

Damn, I'm tired . . .

It's been a long week.

Lots of stuff going on at work--I can't talk about it, and you wouldn't care to read it if I did, but it's keeping all of us hopping. It is fairly stressful, though. By the time I get home I'm pretty much done in. It's hard to find the energy to do anything else, like write or anything.

Though I have managed to get some writing done. I had an idea for a short story--which hasn't happened to me in quite some time--and took a stab at it a few days ago. I didn't like the result. I'm going to think it over and give it another go in a while. It's a good idea. Problem is, it's about an issue that is near and dear to my heart and it's incredibly hard not to get too preachy. The ending drives home the point quite well--I don't think it'll need any further embellishment. But once I get started on it, my emotions take over and it becomes a bit too venomous.

Basically it's about greed, and how the number of people who just can't seem to have enough seems to be growing larger. Look around--you've got individuals in this world who have more money that several industrialized nations, and they just keep wanting more--and they'll sacrifice anything, go to any length, to get it. How much is enough? At what point can you look at your bank balance and say, "Well, I think I have all the money I need now."

Okay, climbing down from my soapbox now.

Been doing a little painting today, too, using a picture I took a couple of weeks ago of a glass sitting on a tablecloth as a model. It looks pretty amateurish, but I think I managed to make the glass look convincing. What I'm saying is, you can still see the background through the glass but it looks like you're looking at it through a glass. Which was kind of the whole point of the exercise. Glass is hard to capture and that, at least, I think turned out okay.

Tomorrow I'm going to take a picture of some lovely flowers I found nearby, to use as a model for another painting. It also looks like the magnolia tree behind my apartment is about to bloom--I'll be getting pictures of those, too.

I'm also planning on going to see The Great Gatsby tomorrow morning. Of course, I may decide I don't feel like it, but I really want to see it--for a while, a few years ago, that book was an obsession with me. Don't ask me why. So, with luck, I'll catch a matinee.

And happy Mother's Day, for al the mothers reading this!

A taste from The Sorcerer's Daughter

(I just thought I'd share this little snippet. It's right in the middle so you might be a little lost--hopefully you can figure it out. What do you think?)

Drew had not been to see the Goloth again since her birthday. She followed Mr. Winston down the stairs, Penny walking next to her, on their way to his room in the lower part of the building.

She glanced at Penny, trying to decide why she’d decided to risk her relationship with her father over him.

Penny was a couple of years older than she was, she knew. She knew his mother had died when he was very young and he didn’t know his father, and had grown up in various foster homes. Some of them, she thought, had treated him pretty badly.

She knew, even though they hadn’t talked about it, that the family he’d killed had done something to him that hurt him terribly. His grief and rage had awakened the power inside of him, and it would never completely go back to sleep.

They reached the bottom of the stair and Drew knew they were deep underground. He led them through the doorway and up the corridor to the heavy wooden door to the Goloth’s room. He opened it and stepped aside, gesturing that they should go in before him.

Drew walked into the room with no hesitation but Penny hung back—she turned back to him and gestured that he was to come, too. She saw him take a breath and swallow before he came in after her.

Mr. Winston stepped inside and closed the door.

It was dark but as her eyes adjusted Drew could see the crevasse that split the floor of the room—there was a faint, warm light coming from something deep down in it. Something moved to obscure the light, a gigantic figure that was the Goloth.

“Hello, old friend.” Mr. Winston called.

The giant figure seemed to lean forward and Drew heard the tinkle of the chains that bound the creature, and, a few feet in front of her, those two softball sized eyes appeared.  They blinked, the lids covered with scars, and she wondered briefly what terrible thing had happened to the Goloth to cause the wounds that led to them. She caught a brief glimpse of a hand—it was much bigger than hers, the fingers longer, with sharp, curving nails at the end of each one—and it, too, was covered with scars. “Greetings,” the Goloth said, with its whispery voice. “I see you bring another.”

“Indeed I do.” Mr. Winston said. “Another for you to consider.”

“You are going to replace Drew with him? He is much too old,” the Goloth said.

“No.” Drew said. “We rescued him. I want him to come live with us.”

The eyes closed and she heard a sniffing sound, as if the Goloth was inhaling, trying to smell them. “Ah,” he finally said. “He has the power. A distant relative.”

“What of it?” Mr. Winston said.

“He is wild. The power was only recently awakened within him,” the Goloth said. “There is great pain in this one. He has been lost and alone for a long time.”

“I know.” Drew said, glancing at Penny, who was staring at the Goloth, terrified. She reached over and touched his shoulder to reassure him, and he seemed to relax.

“He has killed,” the Goloth said.

“Yes.” Drew said. “He didn’t mean to.”

“He was provoked,” the Goloth said. “Yes, I know. But his rage and his pain are a part of him now. They are not tempered with knowledge and wisdom and training. His use of his power will always depend upon that, not upon discipline and a sense of duty.”

“We aren’t going to use his power. We just want to protect him.” Drew said.

“Yes, child, I know this, but you must acknowledge his power.”

“What do you think?” Mr. Winston said.

The Goloth sighed. “He will bring you much pain and grief. He will also bring you much joy. Whether the one is worth the other will be your decision. In the end, though, you will be forced to destroy him. Doing that now will save you much grief, but will also keep you from much joy.”

“What?” Drew asked, glancing at Penny, who looked like he was afraid to move again.

“That is all I can say,” the Goloth said. “I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” Mr Winston said, nodding at the Goloth. “Let’s go,” he added, turning and heading back for the door. Drew followed, Penny coming along after pausing for a last look at the Goloth.

They went through the door and, as Mr. Winston was closing it, Drew thought she could hear the Goloth sigh.

 

Life is too short . . . .

I'm a sucker for paintings with bright, vibrant colors. Many of these are paintings of fantasy scenes--fairies, dragons, that sort of thing--but I love them.

I also love flowers, especially roses. I love paintings of flowers, too.

A lot of the music I like is the same sort of thing teenaged girls listen to. Or did listen to, five years ago.

There was a time when I wouldn't admit any of the above, especially to myself, because I thought it showed I have questionable taste, or it was unmanly. I used to have a friend who would go berserk if I admitted any of the above within his hearing.

Now, I simply don't care. I've stopped pretending to care about stuff simply because it's popular, and I've also stopped denying that I do care about stuff that other people say they don't like.

Life is too short to listen to music I hate or just find boring just because it's what everyone else is listening to. Life is too short to read a book I don't care for because everyone else is reading it. Life is too short to watch a movie I don't want to see because everyone else is watching it.

So, I'm cultivating a familiarity with fashion design, something I've always been curious about. I'm listening to music I like, regardless of the fact that I'm probably the only straight male my age listening to it, and nobody else within a mile radius will admit to liking it. I read the books I want to read, and I don't give a shit if I'm probably the only person who is reading it.

Try it. Admit to yourself what you like to read, listen to, watch, or whatever. Quit caring if anybody else on earth likes it. If you like it, that's all that matters. Though promise me you'll do the opposite, too, and allow others to like stuff you don't care for, without questioning their coolness or sanity or taste level. It has to work both ways.

Amazing how much richer and more enjoyable life becomes when  you do that.