Begining
How did the book begin? (Actually, book series, to be more precise)
It began as a plan for a picture/poetry book about the decaying parts of society. I wanted to showcase the abandoned, deserted, worn down, broken, overgrown parts of our world we do not want to see, not off in some third world country filled with plight, but here in our back yards and behind our shopping malls.
I wanted to describe these back door alleys of our towns and cities in poetry because there is a macabre romantic lure to things that are slowly ebbing or dusting away into nothing, once you stop and look a bit deeper. It's a dark prelude to our own human mortality and perhaps this is why we would rather subconsciously not pay attention to it.
As I began to write and collect the pictures, I started to feel like a few poems and some pictures just weren't enough to describe the idea or at least the feelings that I was getting as I delved deeper into this topic.
And then, I can't recall exactly where, when, or why, I began seeing in my mind a female figure contrasted against a dark cold room, with tiles falling off the walls and a singular ray of daylight illuminating her straight from above as she stood in the middle of this eerie room. I didn't know who she was, why she was in the room or even why I had that exact image in my mind, but it compelled me to put pen to paper (or fingers on keyboard keys) and I began writing. I didn't start an outline, plot line, had no character descriptions, no story arc or any other 'tools' of a writer to help me begin writing - I just started writing, in the same random way that she created herself in my mind. In essence, the decay I had concentrated on for months by then yielded a brilliant image of Constance.
I knew that after I finished the rough draft of this chapter (Journal entry titled The Cold Room) that the book had a life of its own and I was just a conduit to begin scribbling it down.
Till next time.
It began as a plan for a picture/poetry book about the decaying parts of society. I wanted to showcase the abandoned, deserted, worn down, broken, overgrown parts of our world we do not want to see, not off in some third world country filled with plight, but here in our back yards and behind our shopping malls.
I wanted to describe these back door alleys of our towns and cities in poetry because there is a macabre romantic lure to things that are slowly ebbing or dusting away into nothing, once you stop and look a bit deeper. It's a dark prelude to our own human mortality and perhaps this is why we would rather subconsciously not pay attention to it.
As I began to write and collect the pictures, I started to feel like a few poems and some pictures just weren't enough to describe the idea or at least the feelings that I was getting as I delved deeper into this topic.
And then, I can't recall exactly where, when, or why, I began seeing in my mind a female figure contrasted against a dark cold room, with tiles falling off the walls and a singular ray of daylight illuminating her straight from above as she stood in the middle of this eerie room. I didn't know who she was, why she was in the room or even why I had that exact image in my mind, but it compelled me to put pen to paper (or fingers on keyboard keys) and I began writing. I didn't start an outline, plot line, had no character descriptions, no story arc or any other 'tools' of a writer to help me begin writing - I just started writing, in the same random way that she created herself in my mind. In essence, the decay I had concentrated on for months by then yielded a brilliant image of Constance.
I knew that after I finished the rough draft of this chapter (Journal entry titled The Cold Room) that the book had a life of its own and I was just a conduit to begin scribbling it down.
Till next time.
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