Oh the joy of infectious stupidity. Whilst I was boarded on the 8:13 to Blackfriars, a chap got on board and asked if it was the Blackfriars train. One of the people in the carriage replied that, no, it was the Victoria train. This was followed by five or six people contradicting her. She decided to stand her ground, saying that the station had "forgotten" about the 8:13 train, and this was definitely the Victoria train. I stuck my head out, looked up at the display screen, and it did indeed say "8:20 Victoria".
So I got off, as did the various people under the impression that it had been the Blackfriars train. Then, after a minute or so, the doors closed and the train left, long before 8:20, because, of course, it wasn't the 8:20 at all. I only hope the person that had been heading to Victoria was suitably mortified when her train arrived at Loughborough Junction.
I actually wrote some more of Pieces yesterday - the scene in which George identifies his wife's body, and the scene in which his son is born. The trickiest part so far is as quickly and efficiently as possible setting the time period that each fragment of narrative is set.The other difficult part is finding something unique to say in each of the 110 (!) sections of narrative. I'm beginning to feel like I can write, though. Symbols and images are beginning to recur in a way that is familiar to me from my previous stories. I've often described my writing as fractal, and will frequently load sentences with a microcosmic variation of the whole. Pieces has the perfect form for it.
Furthermore, if I can pull it off, it will be one of the longest pieces of writing that I've ever done, abandoned novels aside. The two bits I put down yesterday have strengthened my resolve to keep at it - the way in which the two pieces linked up has shown me that I should let myself deviate from the plan in terms of number of fragments per timeframe. It seems the character is able to determine what should and shouldn't be focused on, meaning I need not waste time on the parts that do not hold as much interest for me. Ironically the metaphor of the assembled jigsaw is infecting the writing process itself, which can only be to its benefit. What's also been interesting for me is that, with individual passages written, I find connection points that lead me to other aspects of George's story that I'd never considered. I've also decided, whilst fuming on the 8:22 (hardly worth the rage, that nine minutes), that the death of Jacqueline, George's wife, will be the event that marks the point in time for my 253-inspired Wiki fiction project. This has the handy side-effect of disallowing me to get distracted by the Wiki project.
And while we're on the subject, I've an idea of why Geoff Ryman picked 253 as the number for his book. Admittedly, it's most likely that the number was derived, as claimed, by the number of seats on a tube train of certain length (the odd number a result of the driver's seat), but if you dip into Perec's Life A User's Manual, you will find a section referring to a wealthy lady, and her expensive search for a missing relative. Listed amongst the vendors of false hopes are numerologists who speak of the significance of words and phrases condensed to the figure 253 (I may hunt out the quote tonight). No more likely to be the direct influence than Sirens Of Titan really getting the name UNK from a particular shot in a Warner Bros cartoon (see the Brain Probe), but I do enjoy these little coincidences, they signify little or nothing, but can be put to good use for fun and profit.
The 253 coincidence is further ramified by the inclusion, in the opening of Ryman's later novel Lust, of a N+7 rendering of the Lord's Prayer taken, if I'm not mistaken, from the OuLiPoan Compendium, the OuLiPo being the literary organisation to which Perec belonged. So perhaps Ryman had already read LAUM prior to writing 253, and although it may not have defined the tube novel, the arrival at 253 as the number of tube seats may well have registered subconsciously with him - its signficance not immediately apparrent but evoking a rightness that motivated him to complete the project.
Conjecture, conjure, etc.
EDIT: 15/08/2005
Londonist mentioned a piece by Ryman on the BBC site which is worth a read.
So I got off, as did the various people under the impression that it had been the Blackfriars train. Then, after a minute or so, the doors closed and the train left, long before 8:20, because, of course, it wasn't the 8:20 at all. I only hope the person that had been heading to Victoria was suitably mortified when her train arrived at Loughborough Junction.
I actually wrote some more of Pieces yesterday - the scene in which George identifies his wife's body, and the scene in which his son is born. The trickiest part so far is as quickly and efficiently as possible setting the time period that each fragment of narrative is set.The other difficult part is finding something unique to say in each of the 110 (!) sections of narrative. I'm beginning to feel like I can write, though. Symbols and images are beginning to recur in a way that is familiar to me from my previous stories. I've often described my writing as fractal, and will frequently load sentences with a microcosmic variation of the whole. Pieces has the perfect form for it.
Furthermore, if I can pull it off, it will be one of the longest pieces of writing that I've ever done, abandoned novels aside. The two bits I put down yesterday have strengthened my resolve to keep at it - the way in which the two pieces linked up has shown me that I should let myself deviate from the plan in terms of number of fragments per timeframe. It seems the character is able to determine what should and shouldn't be focused on, meaning I need not waste time on the parts that do not hold as much interest for me. Ironically the metaphor of the assembled jigsaw is infecting the writing process itself, which can only be to its benefit. What's also been interesting for me is that, with individual passages written, I find connection points that lead me to other aspects of George's story that I'd never considered. I've also decided, whilst fuming on the 8:22 (hardly worth the rage, that nine minutes), that the death of Jacqueline, George's wife, will be the event that marks the point in time for my 253-inspired Wiki fiction project. This has the handy side-effect of disallowing me to get distracted by the Wiki project.
And while we're on the subject, I've an idea of why Geoff Ryman picked 253 as the number for his book. Admittedly, it's most likely that the number was derived, as claimed, by the number of seats on a tube train of certain length (the odd number a result of the driver's seat), but if you dip into Perec's Life A User's Manual, you will find a section referring to a wealthy lady, and her expensive search for a missing relative. Listed amongst the vendors of false hopes are numerologists who speak of the significance of words and phrases condensed to the figure 253 (I may hunt out the quote tonight). No more likely to be the direct influence than Sirens Of Titan really getting the name UNK from a particular shot in a Warner Bros cartoon (see the Brain Probe), but I do enjoy these little coincidences, they signify little or nothing, but can be put to good use for fun and profit.
The 253 coincidence is further ramified by the inclusion, in the opening of Ryman's later novel Lust, of a N+7 rendering of the Lord's Prayer taken, if I'm not mistaken, from the OuLiPoan Compendium, the OuLiPo being the literary organisation to which Perec belonged. So perhaps Ryman had already read LAUM prior to writing 253, and although it may not have defined the tube novel, the arrival at 253 as the number of tube seats may well have registered subconsciously with him - its signficance not immediately apparrent but evoking a rightness that motivated him to complete the project.
Conjecture, conjure, etc.
EDIT: 15/08/2005
Londonist mentioned a piece by Ryman on the BBC site which is worth a read.
posted by Hamilton's Brain | 10:15 am
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