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“This pub should be in a novel”, or Day Seven

November 7, 2010

I wonder if you can hypnotise yourself out of something?

Formula One is my favourite sport (lets be honest, apart from gymnastics and the Winter Olympics, the only sport) – and it’s the only sport I’ve ever ‘followed’. I can sort of sympathise with fans who follow a particular football or soccer team, for instance. Just, you know. Tickets to go see it live are a touch more expensive.

But because I’ve watched it since a very young age, sat on my dad’s lap, the sound of the cars whizzing round and round the track has always lulled me into a warm, hazy sleep – because my brain associates it with my toddler self falling asleep whilst sitting with my dad. The commentators voice do the same. I’ve napped through at least five minutes of every formula one race I have ever seen (and more than once, missed the whole race). It happens even when I think I’m wide awake.

I once knew someone who fell straight asleep when they heard a vacuum cleaner, for the same reason – her mother waited until she was asleep as a child before doing the vacuuming.

So – can you hypnotise yourself out of these things? I wonder how easy that is. And even if I’d want to, seeing as they’re kind of interesting character traits you learn about people.

I did some homework. Which means ‘I wrote 800 words of gibberish’. And most of those words were quotes from elsewhere. There is no coherent argument. The joke about failing uni is starting to get less funny, and the deadline is looming closer. Closer than the NaNo one, at any rate.

Cold Bombay Potatoes do not taste good. Remember, I do these experiments so you don’t have to.

Went to a cramped, rickety, outdated pub today – with dodgy carpet, wobbly stools, fading cushions and scruffy tables. It belongs in a novel (but sadly, not this current one) as some weird meet up for artistic/revolutionary/both students. Maybe I’ll get around to it one day.

Oh. Yeah. That NaNo Thing.

Another short story where Teresa has to adjust to her new living conditions (which are not exactly spectacular), which sees the novel’s sort-of villian being…well, not particularly creepy. But at least we’ve met her now.
Then Nick has an epic wangst-a-thon, but nobody tries to stop him. Adrian is very, very much in a coma; and Ute has a plan.

This was, weirdly, massively easy and quick to write – deceptively so. I think it’s because so much was just stream-of-consciousness word vomit. Both Nick and Teresa enjoy talking to the reader A LOT.

Extract One
My eyes began to focus, painfully slowly, until the blur formed into a figure.

Standing in front of me was some cruel clone, with dirty hair, grey skin, and sick eyes. Other than that, I suppose we were identical; except, maybe my twin looked more tired, or a little older. A little meaner.

I reached a hand up to touch my face, and the other me did the same. Hesitant now, I pushed my hand forward, and brushed the bubbly glass of the old mirror.

Extract Two
He couldn’t quite articulate why he was so worried. Adrian was nice of course – Adrian was beyond nice, he was a fucking saint – but it was, technically, in Nick’s best interest if the boy did not wake up again; or, even better, if he just quietly died in his sleep. Adrian would only have to open his eyes, and look to Isaac and say: ‘he knew, he knew, all the while.’

Nick could kill him, of course. There was plenty of time when no one was around, when they were alone. There were probably plenty of ways to kill him and make it look as though his last strength gave out, had failed him. It only took pushing a pillow up to his nose and holding it there, and holding and holding. Adrian was so comatose he wouldn’t even thrash about. No one would know. Your secret would be safe.

But Nick wasn’t going to kill the boy, and he knew it. He never entertained the idea seriously. Now he had that wonderful nagging guilt, and she wasn’t curled inside his ribcage at all, but laid out on a bed. Silent; reminding. And Nick knew this was something he needed to remember.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. November 7, 2010 11:00 pm

    You are so cute. Formula one always makes me think of my dad, too. In his bathrobe. Feeding me a bacon sandwhich. The zum-zum-zum in the background. Good times.

    Um, yeah, that not failing thing. Hilarious, right? D:

    That Bombay Potato did look pretty gack, I’ll be honest.

    OOO! What’s going on with Tersa? I love doppleganger stuff. Is it herself in the past/future – NO DON’T TELL ME! We’re trading novels to read after this, right?

    Nic just creeped me out. Normally, he’s snooty in my head, sarcastic and bitter, but mostly snooty. Nic would make a good villain. Bit of an Ashes dillemma. Respect.

    This line:
    wonderful nagging guilt, and ‘she’ wasn’t curled inside his ribcage

    Are you sure you mean ‘she’? ‘It’ might flow better… A meer suggestion.

    • November 7, 2010 11:06 pm

      Dude, dude. You have no idea how gack it tasted, believe me.

      NOVEL TRADE, now I will have to be extra careful to avoid spoilers @.@

      Oh. Um. Yeah. He’s a dick to start out with. Like, actually a total dick. The stories are with nice!Nick. That will take a looong time.
      This story would be so much more awesome and tragic and awesome if he were secretly a villain. Like – the amount of stuff he’s present for/could do with no one knowing is just. Gah.

      Aha. See. In my head, I characterised the ‘guilt’ from the earlier chapter as female. And…I did not write that down.
      So I will change it to ‘it’, yes. Thanks for spotting it.

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