tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post3996400677883062413..comments2023-10-03T11:41:21.191+01:00Comments on The Truth About Lies: #514Jim Murdochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-45240970186799612282015-05-17T12:48:04.204+01:002015-05-17T12:48:04.204+01:00I does feel a bit like a writing prompt, Ken. If y...I does feel a bit like a writing prompt, <b>Ken</b>. If you’ve got an idea go for it. I don’t mind playing fodder for once. I’ve always liked writing prompts. I don’t respond to many but there was one site a few years ago where I did make the effort and a couple of decent pieces resulted. I have a writing prompt in my new novel: “Imagine Gregor Samsa woke up one day and had been transformed into something <i>other</i> than a giant beetle.”Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-52923918070351016962015-05-17T11:31:03.410+01:002015-05-17T11:31:03.410+01:00Was it 'beasts'? Was it? There's somet...Was it 'beasts'? Was it? There's something at work here, young Murdoch, face it. :)<br /><br />There's lot of great stuff in this post. I like the poem, it's like a challenge for a story and the peep hole photo is fantastic. Any bloody thing could happen out there. I'd never leave it. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-44611657601849525132015-05-14T00:04:58.871+01:002015-05-14T00:04:58.871+01:00Jim, I don't know that a book exists that does...Jim, I don't know that a book exists that doesn't contain a typo or two, no matter how well proofread. Some can really change a meaning, tho.Glenn Ingersollhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10674475308395975995noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-77694177211705428322015-05-12T17:21:03.358+01:002015-05-12T17:21:03.358+01:00Christ, Glenn, how did I miss that? Maybe that was...Christ, <b>Glenn</b>, how did I miss that? Maybe that was why this never found a publisher.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-8089420337355124802015-05-12T17:18:18.761+01:002015-05-12T17:18:18.761+01:00Absolutely, Jonathan. But I think with Facebook et...Absolutely, <b>Jonathan</b>. But I think with Facebook etc it’s more of a what-am-I-missing mentality. Nothing goes off quicker than the present. We always want the next new thing as soon as it’s available (and sooner if possible). Why? There are so many great things that are in the past but whose time has not passed, not by a long chalk. New does not always equal good. New is easy. Anyone can produce something new. Making something that lasts, well…Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-47517232688271342002015-05-12T16:58:56.690+01:002015-05-12T16:58:56.690+01:00Yes, well put. Now I'm reminded of that film, ...Yes, well put. Now I'm reminded of that film, I think it's Rear Window. <br /><br />Can't help thinking that there's a connection here with Facebook and all the rest of it.Jonathan Chanthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03647746685252448938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-61632987256917179302015-05-12T15:13:07.042+01:002015-05-12T15:13:07.042+01:00I can’t imagine there’s a writer out there Jonatha...I can’t imagine there’s a writer out there <b>Jonathan</b> who’s not a little bit voyeuristic. There’s a scene in Don DeLillo’s novel <i>The Body Artist</i> where the protagonist sits in front of a computer watching a video feed:<br /><br /><i>She spent hours at the computer screen looking at a live-streaming video feed from the edge of a two-lane road in a city in Finland. It was the middle of the night in Kotka, in Finland, and she watched the screen. It was interesting to her because it was happening now, as she sat here, and because it happened twenty-four hours a day, facelessly, cars entering .and leaving Kotka, or just the empty road in the dead times. The dead times were best.<br /><br />[…]<br /><br />She set aside time every day for the webcam at Kotka. She didn’t know the meaning of this feed but took it as an act of floating poetry.</i><br /><br />I get this totally. I was never really one for meditation but this is really a kind of anti-meditation. You sit there in a permanent state of anticipation. Something <i>might</i> happen. I guess that describes what it’s like to be a poet. It’s a waiting game.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-56551381936897294342015-05-11T19:46:32.657+01:002015-05-11T19:46:32.657+01:00I like the poem. My grandparents had one of those ...I like the poem. My grandparents had one of those spy-holes in their flat door. I remember being intrigued by it then and can pretty much still see it now. Yes, I think there's a poem, or maybe even a short story somewhere in there.Jonathan Chanthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03647746685252448938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-70420361199876420512015-05-11T06:49:03.583+01:002015-05-11T06:49:03.583+01:00By my third reading I realized the "beasts&qu...By my third reading I realized the "beasts" that "hung" were maybe not dead animals but breasts.<br /><br />It's definitely less surreal without the beasts.Glenn Ingersollhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10674475308395975995noreply@blogger.com