Getting into Character

The novel writing process is tough...figuring out how to start, what research needs to be done, how to create composite characters out of real individuals, how to keep true to your friends and lovers whom you might reference without betraying the true nature of the relationships (especially if they are critical to the story).

Nothing is tougher however,than trying to "get into character," especially when the character has many facets, plays many roles, and yet must remain the same across time and across the different roles.

The Philogynist will be organized into 9 parts:

1. Passing
2. Psychiatric
3. Passion
4. Politics
5. Painting
6. Poetry
7. Pints
8. Pornography
9. Pilgrimage

And as this novel is a cathartic process, I will delve deep into myself - with God's blessing and a lot of courage - and of course as a writer, rev up the intensity and put some elements in a more extreme light (otherwise it would be pretty boring).

But I am now in the process of trying to find the characters/roles of the Philogynist. And the way I found to do this is to create a series of self-portraits, using the same photo, and doing a variation on it to reflect the nature of the character/role.

I will start with four: psychiatric, painter, pornographer, and poet.

Final photos of the series will be posted.

Any thoughts, feedback, constructive criticisms?

First Snowfall

Winter is finally here!

Today, we are having our first big snowfall in Albany. It's 1:30 p.m., and I've already been out to shovel a couple of inches once. I'll shovel again later.

I enjoy the snow, though, and look forward to painting tonight.

Organizing for "The Philogynist"

Painting, titled "Writer's Block."







At lunch time, I went up to the Albany-Rensselaer Train Station, had a BLT (extra mayo, please, for my heart!) and began thinking about how to move forward with the novel.

I even have a work plan:

Action Step (Due Date)

1. Create written statement of intent. (1/5/08)

2. Create list of main characters and character profiles. (1/5/08)

3. Develop plot outline. (2/7/08)

4. Begin sketching and painting relative to the novel (ASAP and Continuous)

5. Begin writing the novel (start date 2/12/08).

Those friends of mine who read the blog are kindly asked, if they don't see much writing about the novel on the blog over the next few months, to ask me about it every now and then. Without nagging! I need some sort of audience and doing this just for my own benefit is not, sadly, going to get it done.

Re-Imagining "The Philogynist"

While struggling with the painting last night, I had a minor epiphany. Partially inspired by both "The Moon and Sixpence" and "The Razor's Edge," as well as the construct for the Dylan movie, "I'm Not There," and with a little bit of influence from Styron's "Darkness Visible," I am going to re-organize and re-imagine my novel, which I started last February.

Originally, the novel was going to focus on and project a single path, which would include a local political career and different relationships and friendships with different women. Of course, that was a projection from February, when I had just started the new life.

While painting, it dawned on me that this new artistic path should be integrated into the novel...somehow. And, as I write, I might pick up a bunch of smaller canvases and paint as I write, so that both activities are going on simultaneously.

Instead of focusing on a singular path, I might structure the novel to have lives depicted through parallel paths: poet, politician, painter...possibly pornographer.

I am not totally sure, but it will be different and less linear than what I had originally planned...it will still likely begin with the death and end with the 40th birthday.

And of course, having had the virtue of time, having met new people along the way, there is much more to write about, much more to explore than there was 10 months ago.

A Challenge

Update (8:26 p.m.): It's not happening tonight. I cannot get the mouth right and the relationship of the eyes to the nose to the mouth right, and I do not want to screw this gal up...so, best to back off, let it go, move on to something else.




For better or worse, I have been putting this off for weeks now: putting a face on the "redhead in the tropics."

Eyes, nose, eyebrows, lips, cheeks! I have never done it before, and sketching is a lot different than painting. That fear of failure has caused me to procrastinate.

I can paint a volcano, a bourbon glass, an armchair, even a self-portrait, but there is that fear of screwing up something which I want, somehow, to be beautiful and almost be a tribute to that elusive red-headed muse to whom I referred earlier.

Time to just let go and move forward.

Freedom!

In a way, for the first time in a while, emotionally-speaking and specific to my relatinships to women, I am content:

* I am not in love with anyone, although there are women whose company I enjoy and whose bodies I would adore;

* I am not betrothed to anyone, not to any single person anymore; and

* Friendships of all sorts mean a lot more to me than perhaps they did when I was betrothed/married and ensconced in the cocoon of monogamy. And not just the friendships with benefits, but the non-carnal ones as well.

This Saturday I had a wonderful time, made a new friend who is a writer, and then got to see an old and new friend in the same person, as we were not really friends in college but became friends this year. In both settings, the conversations were wonderful - different, obviously - in their unique ways. The Guiness at Blue Bar was tasty and it was fun to watch the hustle and bustle in a busy hotel bar on a Saturday night, and my new friend and I talked about writing, among other things. The jazz bar (Louis 649) was a neat little hole in the wall, and my friend and I talked about our common college bonds (GWU) and about turning 40.

And then Sunday evening, my traveling buddy came over, had some cheeseboard, drank some wine, and we shared poetry (see below). Then she knitted while I painted, and it was a very good time.

So, it is nice to feel free, to explore, to make new friendships and strengthen old ones, to enjoy the sights, smells and sounds of different women and enjoy their eyes.

Poetry Night

My poem is inspired by E.E. Cummings "between the breasts of bestial marj:"

walking on top of boxcars

walking on top of boxcars
pulling switches and
inspecting the rails
your naked image

imprinted on my
brain: leaning back
tempting, taunting
teasing me to come

to you, tormenting me
for the lack of dirt
under my nails, my hands
paint-stained but uncalloused;

leaving behind my cubicle
to work on the rails
workboots on my feet and
lantern in my hand

in cold
in rain
in wind
in hail if only to lure

you in, dear marj
whom i salute and
between whose breasts
i am resolute

(c) fprm, 2007

And my poetry buddy's piece:

From one traveler to another

Come sit with me and be my friend,
And we will talk of hearts amend
From sorrows great or slightings small,
Until we've tired of it all.

And we will go and have a beer
And speak with strangers, making cheer.
We'll share a bourbon, we two friends
And flirt with friendly lesbians.

And when our funds are running low,
We won't let such things stop us- no!
You'll make a cheeseboard and I'll find
A bottle of some cheap-ass wine.

Then while you paint, I'll sit and knit
And we will trade verse for a bit,
Or read from those who came before
And then reflect, with quiet awe.

While we're at work, we'll emails trade.
We'll bitch and moan in some tirade
About a boss, colleague or lover-
But never cross words for each other!

Sometimes we'll travel, for we know
We both delight in wandering so,
And when we're weary at day's end,
Come sit with me and be my friend.

(c) hmh, 2007

Painting...Again

It has been a few days since I have made any time for some productive painting. I did get one done for my Buddhist friend, intended for her when she came up for First Friday, but she could not make it...but it's done, and I am happy with it. A second one was being worked on for my blogger friend, but I was not happy with the progress and did not want to rush it. So, I will have to wait until the spring to get it to her.

But my blogger friend asked a very good question: why do artists always seem to want to give away their work to folk?

Good question.

Perhaps it's like the cat who kills a mouse and brings it to the doorstop of its owner...its caretaker: it's a gift, a sign of love and friendship, and perhaps also some sort of desire for validation. That is how it feels...although I cannot put myself in the place of a cat (mine are indoor and they don't get to catch or kill anything and bring nothing to us but their own neuroses and needs to be petted and loved and stroked).

Perhaps the artist is the same...at least this artist.

Painting has become quite a therapy for me...but it's also another outlet...a way to sensualize my creativity that pounding on the keyboard does not provide. And I am sure a Freudian would make something out the extension of the body with the long paintbrush...not to mention my chomping on cigars!

Right now, at the request of a friend, I am trying to paint something that captures the conflicting emotions of peace and turmoil...joy and sadness...heaven and hell. Will I deliver? Who knows.

Justin's, Blue Bar, Bar Louis and Kerouac!

This is not an "fpr," it is a Kerouac self-portrait as a boy. One of the many neat artifacts at the exhibit at the main branch of the NYPL "Beatific Soul: Jack Kerouac on the Road." Image courtesy of the NYPL website.


New York City is a hell of a long way to go for a couple of drinks. But go I did, and there I was.

Earlier, around 11ish, I had breakfast with a friend at a local eatery...the company was good, but the service horrendous. Then around 11:30 a.m., I kicked off my trip to NYC with a Manhattan at Justins. A very good Manhattan, followed by a cigar and a walk down Madison and across the Dunn Bridge to the train station.

I always get some kind of electric charge...some rush of adrenaline...some kind of beat in my head to which I keep a fast walking pace and again I found that pace and bopped up 6th, then 5th Avenue, and decided not to go to the suitcase exhibit...why depress myself. Instead, almost miraculously, I found myself at the NYPL main branch and a huge banner advertising a Jack Kerouac exhibit. The exhibit had paintings, drafts of texts, notebooks, codes for real people and their fictional names, paintings, sketches and charts of his fantasy baseball leagues, and yes...The Scroll.

Sixty feet unrolled of his original typewritten draft of "On the Road," written in a 3 week period in early 1950s. The scroll had been on the road itself for a while, and quite accidentally, after wishing to see it...there it was before me. As a writer and a bit of a sentimentalist, it was quite a sight...I cannot even describe how it felt to see this artifact of 20th Century literary history. It is probably close to the same feeling that devout Catholics feel when they visit a shrine of their particular Saint...or when a patriot...a real patriot...feels when she or he sees the Declaration of Independence at the National Archives.

Afterwards, I meandered to the Blue Bar, which was very crowded, for my drink with a young and beautiful lady who is also a writer...and a very good one (the writer was good, the drink was Guiness, which is always good). We had a nice time and a great discussion, and I gave her a copy of "Antietam," from one writer to anotheer, and then around 8:30 p.m., walked her to the subway.

Then I met up with a friend of mine from college, who just celebrated her 40th, down at a bar on 9th Street...Bar Louis. It was a nice little no-cover jazz bar near Avenue C. My friend and I talked for a while...mostly about turning 40 and love and relationships, then cabbed up to drop her sound equipment for her Sunday singing gig and then walked up to Penn Station.

It was kind of funny...we had the slowest, most cautious cab driver ever. He was a nice guy, but he was so cautious and so hesitant on the streets, stopping way ahead of time to let pedestrians cross, not changing lanes to pass left-turning vehicles...it was quite an experience in NYC.

I slept intermittenly on the 11:45 p.m. train, got in at 2:15 a.m. and walked from the train station back to Elm Street.

Not a bad excursion.