The WIP is going screamingly well--30K words and counting. That's about a third done--I really want this one to be under 90K. Oh, I know the writing is about as pretty as a stained concrete wall, but I feel as if I'm forging a solid foundation with this first draft. The coolest bit is that I'm finding unintentional metaphors. I didn't see the extent of it until last night at crit group, but it wraps up the theme and plot in a right purty package. I've got a sort of shivery feeling just thinking about it. Or maybe it's our April snow heading our way. Winter Park has gotten TWO FEET in the past week...grr....brr...
I'm listening to REM's new Accelerate. Very nice, really. It's more political than their usual fare, and Stipe's southern accent gives his take an interesting slant. Until the Day is Done is a particularly haunting ballad. Their music retains the rhythm that has worked for them for years, as well as poetry left open to a great deal of interpretation. I can fairly hear how it would sound live.
I have the feeling REM is not precious about their work. They may have something precise to say, but they also recall communication is a two-way street. Which brings me to something I've been thinking of lately: the lack of editing for those among us who are percieved to have "made it." Cormac McCarthy forgoes punctuation; Rowling's books get thicker by the year; LOST just gets slower; even some of Stephen King's later works seem to ramble about without a satisfying conclusion. It hardly rewards the customer to turn out shoddier and shoddier work, and it's easy to pick out the writers who do not have contracts thrown at their feet with roses and wine. The best among the "made" are the ones who do not take advantage of the artistic freedom gifted them by a paying public, but who continue to force their art into the constraints of convention.
More on this later. I'm reading an intriguing article by George Orwell that's sparking blog ideas.