Yesterday and today we haven’t done a living thing that is worth mentioning. We slept, got out of bed, ate, bickered, made up, and retreated to bed to either watch the telly or to read and write. Well, among other things…
Oh, and for about eight hours Mark was off to work, and just came home, so the food is on the stove. The smell is filling the room, and I’m getting really hungry. I had intended to just make sausages and mash, but when he came home Mark grimaced and said he wanted something better, and took over.
Therefore the sausages and mash is turning into something that smells absolutely delicious. He’s cooking the sausages in the oven with olive oil, herbs and cheese, and is peeling the potatoes in order to mince them and make “rårakor”. I taught him to make those once, and he likes them. But I realise I’m an old wine snob these days, because I don’t have any wine in the house! It’s really disgraceful.
Wonder of wonders – I actually was able to meet with dad today. He came over here for a couple of hours, and I cooked him coffee, and then he started to lecture me about things, and he thought that it would be a mistake for Mark to take on the sponsorship.
Which makes me wonder if he thinks that way because mum works there, and he has a thing about the place because it is mum’s job, or if he has any more substantive reasons. He didn’t give me any of those more substantive reasons, beyond the fact that he thought it would be a mistake to make such long-term commitment at seventeen.
Otherwise it was the usual monologue from him when we meet. I must do good in school, not fritter around with meaningless stuff, and be mindful of my future. He didn’t seem to interested in talking about anything else, so after I had lectured him in turn about the tumour thing – a lecture he didn’t pay any attention to by the way – it seemed we had exhausted our conversations, and after a while he left, and I went to fritter away my future by writing four thousand words.
The story that I’m writing is, I realise, the story of Renfield, removed to the modern world and washed of the clichés of Bram Stoker’s Gothic-horror time and world. It’s been done before, of course. Not often, but it’s been done. The character ‘Håkan’ in Jon Ajvide Lindqvist’s “Let the right one in” is a modern sort of Renfield.
I tend to write a brief outline, just the bare bones, and then start to flesh out the outline with scenes. More often than not my books have no resemblance to the initial outline. So it is with this book. My initial idea was to write about the dynamics of an abductor and the abductee.
After a while the first vampire moved into the neighbourhood, and then I was inspired by a question that Annie asks of her murderer in the television show “Being Human”. The question she asked was: “If I exist, what else does?”
Now, about fifteen chapters in (of around thirty) the story have no resemblance to my initial outline, and I find myself revising the outline instead of writing the story. I need to know where I’m going when I write. If I have a yawning gulf of words ahead of me, and no clear direction, I do other things like write blog posts on the internet.