While I'm busy doing frantic last minute writing and editing and cutting and re-writing and deleting and footnoting and formatting and re-rewriting to my thesis, and therefore CLEARLY will not be on livejournal tomorrow, I would like to direct my readers' attention to this rather wonderful little snippet:
commonplacebook (during a discussion about zany NaNoWriMo tactics):
Maybe I'll adapt Chretien in the style of DeLillo:
The knight rode to the castle. It was nice, this, this riding to the castle. Inside the castle smelled of what? He could smell the immutable mysteries, old socks, women's Haines undergarments, all the frangible incense of huge vastnesses beyond him, this castle, this kingdom. Like castles held the religious impulse, held the clatter and echo of blood-rusted swords unavailable now.
He heard King Arthur and the Queen.
What? Arthur said.
I feel so I don't know, she said.
Sir Kay, he's so, you know, brittle.
She said, I feel like I need something else.
I say one thing and he pops off.
I feel like the castle isn't enough, like all the stones can't hold the caroming of this immense desire, this need to feel the blood, you know, the fucking pulse.
I don't know, Arthur said. Are you all right, Guin?
You should be more, what's the word I want, more accommodating to Sir Kay, she said.
Perhaps adapting myth into post-modern Western novelistic prose is my way forward, since I seem to be able to string sentences together with moderate facility (although I'm not a patch on commonplacebook, whom you should all read, incidentally) but can't tell a good story for the life of me. After all, if your sources are Classical, then it's not plagiarism, it's intellectual literary reference.