Friday, February 19, 2010
Why Brood? or, Hulk is glad fighting is over
Now, I have a best friend, who was listening to me while I waxed tiredly about fruitless situations I want to keep my heart out of...forgive the shite grammar. Still shot out from last night's gym trip and still not yet stirring beyond a bit of drawing I sent along to cheer up an old friend, knowing I have this epic piece of writing I've been plotting and complicating---I'd rather use the term "complexifying" if you will indulge me the neo-logism---and I didn't feel I could move on to my happy music side fully until I had this prototypical little giant of drawing and writing out of the way, however much I may wish I could hang around indulging in thoughts of it, indefinitely. (Moving on: a theme, here.)
Anyway, she's my wife, though our nom-de-plume personas are pledged to wed in a big, gaudy ceremony someday should we achieve the quality of fandom which used to haunt so many dreams.
And all I wanted was for her to stop playing her game on her break and read my mind and cuddle up with me and spoil me, when, after all, I really just needed to blow off some steam primal scream style and maybe bounce around the room acting out the story I've been drawing for and plotting so much of the past two weeks.
We really, really don't like to be cross with one another, but with the shitty economy and the need for continuing development of our triple-threat long term projects, I sometimes yearn too much for a different status quo, wherein we are working in the arts making enough of a living to where we could drive each other absolutely up the wall in each others' omnipresence. That yearning, when one aches and feels somewhat dormant, can manifest in a testiness that is just plain rude. We promised to keep in touch, though, talking just moments after she departed for her job, and before the afternoon was halfway through, I'd sent a text based on a line established early on in today's writing that doubled for my true sentiments: "Hulk is glad the fighting is over."
Her answer: "So am I, Hulk. She Hulk is sorry."
Oh, never mind they're really cousins; we ALL know that! We're from Georgia; we're likely about fourth cousins, ourselves!
When she came home, I took a break as soon as possible from my eager narrating voice to make some coffee and invite her out onto the fire escape to see the blue of the skyline. We commented on its difference from the bright blue we love so well here in California: really, it was much the same, it just lacked, at that point, the suffusion of broad daylight.
I did some yoga and took copious notes, organizing story bits and polishing scenes while she played on facebook, and came back swinging before the night was through. I let her go to the gym by herself this time, where she got her best ever five minute run time, much better than I can yet do, meself!
Meanwhile, I continued doggedly in pursuit of a story that had an overwhelming unchecked zeal to be told, at the expense of all other pursuits. You know, I added two installments, about 2000 more typed words, and STILL had the climax left to finish, as it continued to suggest scenes that, were we editing for an actual comic, might have to fall to the way side.
If I was more concerned about readers' reluctance to pursue reading a lengthier short story, I might have backed away, but something said, "you've got to illustrate this in its fullness, let every bit character that wants have their say!" Best yet, before she left, she drew some runes for me, just as one character does in the story---the core original characters are intensely personal iterations of our fantasy life, many years in the making. And STILL, I couldn't close the deal on THAT scene for all the interim material, so when she came back, we discussed how each of the five characters in the spell may have drawn each particular rune and its significance. So, together, reading, sharing, discussing, we agreed to how the interpretations via Ralph Blum's excellent book on runemal fit w/ the five characters in the situation, and I wrote right UP to that scene, which waits for me still tomorrow, or whenever I'm done sleeping today.
We'd already had a lot of fun, and then we went out to Subway, where the cutie-pie favorite---oh yeah, earlier, the lady asked how we were, and I said "oh, inspired!" and she asked, "by your girlfriend?" and why correct her, that's exactly the feeling I miserably stated I want to have with my wife, where it's safe, wonderful, and sane to have it. Oh, well, Estrela gave us her big smile as she made our sandwiches, and found out how long we've been together, while wonderful bEatles blasted much too loudly over the speakers.
After I eventually called Estrela from the back to get our cup and the three customers who'd walked in (closing by yourself is TOUGH!), we settled down for her first read of the conclusion of the last Claremont Brood saga, drawn by the incomparable Marc Silvestri and Dan Green team, thrilling to every page, really, laughing and chattering and just best-friending like soul mates. I can't remember which part she pointed out was a tad weak---it was her only complaint besides how easily Psylocke was turned in an earlier chapter by the mind controlling member of the Brood (shades of H.R. Giger) via a pheromone-controlled Rogue. She loved seeing Wolvie's healin' factor take care of that brood egg while the pastor thought he was exorcising a demon, Havok's near-fatal hesitation about taking a life again, Colossus giving the Brood hell as a one man car wreck, and Maddy's dark spiritual journey---really, she loved the comic as thoroughly as I did back in '88, maybe more.
We have another wonderful thing in common that is as tempting to write about as those first 2000 words I was considering...but safe to say, that was in private, later, and I don't know what the forum rules are for such revelations and let's say it was the kind of thing that proves how united we are in our tastes, hopes and dreams.