Intense meeting of the writers group last night, focusing on narrative and specifically environment as determined by written word, sound and graphics. Using Half Life 2, Facade, Deus Ex, and Voompt a text story by one of our stellar writers, Jim Murphy, we were able to examine the reader input and recognizable elements put in by the writer to stimulate the senses to form ideas of action, sequence, drama, and story. Driving home, I had some brilliant (?) thoughts that both questioned and dissected to a form of analysis the implications of multi-sensory event of story. I also found some relevance in the imagery of 100 Years of Solitude, and yet this morning, all the data has been clouded by what should be insignificant and unfounded worry about personal matters. Last night, a pounding headache from a knot of tension at the base of my skull. At four a.m., it returned with full fury.
But pills and phone calls later, the cloud thins to stratus streaks and peeking through, the sun of serious thought and inspiration. I see a blurred vision of yellow flowers falling from the sky to cover the village where Jose Arcadio Buendia has died.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology