stories, some that are still being formed, some that went over the transom in the last century
The "Brit a Day" series
What does a months-long parade of attractive British men have to do with fiction, you might well ask? These gentlemen have inspired some lovely scenes, part of the life I live in my head. Over time, some of these scenes reach out to one another and begin to form a story. For the present, each one of these pictures provides a writing prompt for me, a way to keep me writing with a sense of passion and narrative, even when the stories are not yet fully formed.
As I mentioned yesterday, I just finished reading a book about the early 20th century treks to the South Pole. [Confirms my theory that even intelligent men do way crazier things than any woman would do.] I can't imagine ever putting up with cold like that. If some woolies, some leather, and a guy to put his arms around me [or any combination thereof] aren't enough to keep me warm, then it's just too cold for me.
Rickman, as pictured above, could provide all three.
I just finished reading Beryl Bainbridge's novel, The Birthday Boys, an account of Robert Falcon Scott's tragic march to the South Pole told in turns from the point of view of the five men who died there. Here is an excerpt from the final section, the words of Captain Titus Oates as Bainbridge imagines them--
And of course that black flag told them that Roald Amundsen and his party of Norwegian explorers had beaten them to the Pole.
The photo of Scott in his Antarctic expedition hut can be opened in another window and examined for incredible detail. My god, you can almost smell the penguins!
By the by, Beryl Bainbridge was an incredibly talented but unsung author. She died last year at only 77 of cancer. Send up some love to her spirit some time by reading one of her books, this one for example, or perhaps An Awfully Big Adventure.
From the filming of the 'Modern Art' video, about 2006. Art Brut, with Eddie Argos [center] as frontman. This setting has always reminded me of the scene early in 'Wings of Desire' where the 2 angels are sitting in a convertible in the showroom of a BMW dealer. I couldn't find a still looking from behind them toward the street, but that's the view I'm thinking of.
How do you like your Desmond--struggling to understand the Hatch upon arrival, or at the end of his ordeal as he parts ways with the Oceanic Six aboard the 'Searcher'? I'll take one of each and everything in between.
I bought a watch with left-over Christmas money at a Japanese thrift shop I affectionately call the 99 Yen Store. The watch devoured three changes of battery in less that two weeks--but I've been mulling over the advantages of wearing a broken watch [first brought to my attention by Eddie Argos some years ago]--when you are cornered by someone you don't wish to talk to, you can always be running late for another meeting. A glance at your wrist, a look pleading for forgiveness...and you're off.
I got into watching a couple of episodes of 'Murder She Wrote' while folding laundry the other day, and as with any gateway drug, it was only a short downward slide into streaming episodes of the BBC's 'Midsomer Murders', a cheeky crime drama that takes place in Midsomer County, a fictional and picturesque location in the English countryside where at least 2 murders per episode have taken place since 1997. Our own HIC participated in the mayhem back in 2004 as the uncouth character Gareth Heldman. I won't provide any spoilers by saying on which side of the crime wave Gareth fell [ahem], but I can suggest that the bulk of Ian's performance is in the first 15 minutes of the episode 'The Fisher King.'