A visit with my younger self: 3 February 1989

A substantial gap in my journaling here. I ended up actually going on a date and entering a dating relationship (ultimately doomed) with a classmate named Wilma who will show up later, I dropped out of school at the end of the semester, persuaded my logic professor to give me a sympathy D but I returned to Claremont for a while because I would be attending Harvard University’s Model United Nations conference with the Claremont Colleges Model United Nations in late February (I’m guessing on dates here since I don’t explicitly mention the conference anywhere).

On my return, I ended up doing a lot of couch surfing to provide a place to live since I was no longer a student. Ultimately, my key residence became the math department lounge. I kept a blanket and pillow stashed behind one of the sofas and slept there at night. Every morning, a visiting professor from Germany would open the door to the lounge, see me sleeping there and leave, at which point, I would re-hide my pillow and blanket then go to one of the dormitory buildings which had showers accessible without being in a dorm room to shower and get dressed. I’m pretty sure the professor kept going down the hall to get someone and tell them that there’s somebody living in the department lounge and returning to find no one there, much like Big Bird with Snuffleupagus.

STORY IDEA (novel): Story of a Greek war from the point of scared, naïve 14-year-old soldier. Have to figure out some sort of important character development to make it more interesting than just an anti-war diatribe. Possible opening:

I don’t want to die.

As I lay here, awake at night, I wonder if any of my comrades-in-arms also feel the urge to break and run, the desire to sneak off in the middle of the night to somewhere, anywhere, away from the fighting and the death.

I know these feelings are wrong. I know this war is the will of the gods and should I die that that too would be the will of the gods.

But I know that my desire to run away is strong. Perhaps that is the will of the gods. That I flee the ringing fields and live.

Lying next to me is Atosthenes. He has slept on these fields under these skies for seven winters. I never see him cringe from battle; instead he flings himself into it with all his will. I try to imagine him when he first arrived, so long ago, as a cringing weakling like myself. It is as impossible as imagining myself rushing towards death seven years hence.

* * *

Writing that out has given me a few plot ideas: have the relationship between the narrator (should I name him?) and Atosthenes develop; how about the narrator being introduced to atheism. Without the gods, will he still feel compelled to stay?

 

I haven’t recorded any of my ideas for Graceland. I should do this now.

Premise: Five people riding a bus to Memphis (presumably to visit Graceland) get to know each other telling stories. [Ship of fools].

Problems (mechanical): A contemporary work of fiction needs to be more subtle about its framework than say, a work of Bocaccio’s would have. It is an excellent vehicle to explore the character of narration (so, I must write stores for Graceland, not just piece them together). I need a way to get the stories started, especially since I’d like to get into some fairly intimiate topics (the book closes with one character revealing too much). during a story-time span of two days.

Characters: (I don’t have names for most).

1. [no name]. The oldest person in the group he is also the only one to have actually been to an Elvis concert (with his daughter who was 18 then, and has since died (Leukemia or sometihng). His stories, except for the one about the Elvis concert have an ironic humor about them. He smiles at his protagonists, but sympathizes with them as well.

   His first story, “Diamonds are forever” tells of a young man in love whose main fault is that he doesn’t “take things into consideation.” For example. when he goes to buy the engagement ring, he didn’t think to find out the ring size of his fiancé [sic]–to-be. The crux of the story lies in his not thinking about what might happen if his proposal is rejected, and then having that jolted into his mind by the salesman at the jewelery store.

A lot of writing here, likely assisted by the fact that I had a lot of time and no real responsibilities. I remember getting really good at Tetris at this time to the extent where friends were sure I must be pausing the game to get the kinds of scores that I got.

I also would note that I somehow had gotten the idea that “ship of fools” was a term for a collection of stories enclosed in a frame of the storytellers being thrown together and telling each other their stories like in The Decameron. I’m inclined to blame one of my professors at the time for misinforming me and unlike today with the google and the wikipedia, verifying these sorts of things was not a simple matter.

I think what this entry reveals more than anything else though is that ideas are cheap, the secret to writing is to actually finish stuff which I skill I distinctly lacked at this time in my life.