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When Inspiration Strikes, It Strikes Hard
May. 24th, 2004 06:32 pm[except it doesn't strike, because it has no hands and no weapons either, and it isn't a person anyway but rather an attitude]
Still, when you have been pondering the tos and fros of a story you started almost two years ago and that still, although you know bits and pieces of what is to happen in it at certain points, hasn't made it far beyond the first labour pains and eventually got stuck at one big blocking point; when, meanwhile, other stories and projects occupied your mind, so you almost forgot about it and yet didn't want to give it up, because it was your own work for once; when, in the last weeks, during the less interesting classes you began to return to its course, and started to at least get a preliminary order to all that you knew was to happen; when, then, suddenly, during Introduction to Linguistics, suddenly things fall into place, so now you can take the story a few chapters further all of a sudden, making you want to scream "Of course!" because it makes sense and you don't get it why you didn't see it earlier: then I think Inspiration does strike like lightning does.
The bad thing about it is that I now have to re-gain my (always poor) grasp of Lothannon, the main language of the region my story is stuck at; I have to rediscover its history and mythology, stuff I never bothered to write down because hey, I have a mind, I can store it there; and though I know now what happens, I still have to compile it into words, and in a way that makes it bearable (for I have to stick with what comes into my head, strange or cruel as it may be: I strayed from it a few times in the past, thinking I couldn't write it like that, and always that proved bad for the story's continuity). And I am, once again, mentally and actually, working on five projects at once, while I also should be working on three presentations, two term papers and one assignment, and read several books.
Ngah.
I hate it to wake up from a dream, knowing that the dream was just over when I woke up, but unable to remember what it was about to save my life, while having the powerful feeling that it was, in some way, important.
(And I dislike it to wake up from a dream because Stummel is having another epileptic fit and threatens to throw up all over my sheets, poor beast.)
Somehow, Linguistics feel a lot like some sort of space opera: Assimilation. Activation Threshold. Maximal Onset Principle. Coalescence. Great Vowel Shift. Hierarchy of Sonority.
You know, I bet one could write a science fiction short story containing all these terms, and they wouldn't look out of place at all. One could name the story Universal Grammar.
Oh. Great. Project #6.
Ah, and as for yesterday evening: It went surpringly well. My mom only ever let slip two or three slightly embarassing things that could be ignored, they all liked the food and got around with each other well enough. Big relief.
- - -
( Wenn die Inspiration zuschlägt, dann schlägt sie richtig zu )
- - -
Still, when you have been pondering the tos and fros of a story you started almost two years ago and that still, although you know bits and pieces of what is to happen in it at certain points, hasn't made it far beyond the first labour pains and eventually got stuck at one big blocking point; when, meanwhile, other stories and projects occupied your mind, so you almost forgot about it and yet didn't want to give it up, because it was your own work for once; when, in the last weeks, during the less interesting classes you began to return to its course, and started to at least get a preliminary order to all that you knew was to happen; when, then, suddenly, during Introduction to Linguistics, suddenly things fall into place, so now you can take the story a few chapters further all of a sudden, making you want to scream "Of course!" because it makes sense and you don't get it why you didn't see it earlier: then I think Inspiration does strike like lightning does.
The bad thing about it is that I now have to re-gain my (always poor) grasp of Lothannon, the main language of the region my story is stuck at; I have to rediscover its history and mythology, stuff I never bothered to write down because hey, I have a mind, I can store it there; and though I know now what happens, I still have to compile it into words, and in a way that makes it bearable (for I have to stick with what comes into my head, strange or cruel as it may be: I strayed from it a few times in the past, thinking I couldn't write it like that, and always that proved bad for the story's continuity). And I am, once again, mentally and actually, working on five projects at once, while I also should be working on three presentations, two term papers and one assignment, and read several books.
Ngah.
I hate it to wake up from a dream, knowing that the dream was just over when I woke up, but unable to remember what it was about to save my life, while having the powerful feeling that it was, in some way, important.
(And I dislike it to wake up from a dream because Stummel is having another epileptic fit and threatens to throw up all over my sheets, poor beast.)
Somehow, Linguistics feel a lot like some sort of space opera: Assimilation. Activation Threshold. Maximal Onset Principle. Coalescence. Great Vowel Shift. Hierarchy of Sonority.
You know, I bet one could write a science fiction short story containing all these terms, and they wouldn't look out of place at all. One could name the story Universal Grammar.
Oh. Great. Project #6.
Ah, and as for yesterday evening: It went surpringly well. My mom only ever let slip two or three slightly embarassing things that could be ignored, they all liked the food and got around with each other well enough. Big relief.
- - -
( Wenn die Inspiration zuschlägt, dann schlägt sie richtig zu )
- - -
