constance blackwood

As someone who may not be a professional writer but is still conscious of trying to balance some sort of writing style with a certain shall we say accessibility, I feel as though sometimes I ought to check and make sure my Gentle Readers are still with me, you know? My particular livejournal universe has been so quiet lately that the lack of comments on my journal is easily explained. But still, in manner of hopelessly neurotic dipshit, I wonder: have I lost you? Sometimes, I do wonder.

So by way of experiment, I propose a little informal stylistic check: I am going to tell you a story in two different ways, and I am hoping you'll oblige me by reading and offering your preference, and I will do my best to hold your interest by sticking to that style. Okay, ready?

The Title of the story is "I Nearly Crashed My Car today."

( The Straightforward Version )

( The Stream-of-Consciousness Version )


So what do you think?

This is my favorite coverage of the Tom Cruise natural disaster so far. Not because it's convinced me of something that I've always suspected, which is that you can convince anyone of anything as long as you interrupt them constantly and TALK LOUDER THAN THEY DO--because wouldn't you say that Matt Lauer has been convinced of his wrongheadedness by the end? Wouldn't you say that he is counting the seconds until "The Today Show" is over so he can send his assistant out for a copy of Dianetics? I am practicing my rude and patronizing interruptions as we speak!

Anyway, it isn't just that. You will see what I mean when you click. I urge you to do so.

I am riveted by his meltdown, actually, and that is no joke. I'm enthralled in the same way I'm enthralled by Oliver Sacks, by A.R. Luria, by daguerrotypes of war injuries: it is an anthropological fascination, partly rooted in fear and obscure guilt and a particularly nasty form of voyeurism. I have been reading articles on Scientology, I have been wondering at the psychology of people so--I don't even quite know the word to put in here--that the teachings of Scientology seem like the obvious explanation. I feel sorry for them. I am a little horrified. Bewildered. But, yes, fascinated.

:::

And. Like violetisblue, I'm missing writing fanfiction lately; I am thinking of it in most of those moments that aren't already taken up with the mysteries of the human brain. I am reading Harry Potter, and finding myself wanting specifically to weave stories into canon. To fill in some of the spaces of JKR's writing. This means no slash, for the most part, and I'm not sure how big an audience I'll have among the people on my friendslist if I do get something written. But I thought I'd let you know, just in case.