I did 1,511 more words on "In View of Nothing." And I do not know if this story is going to work. I cannot seem to get it right. It's like I'm writing some dim shade of the story this ought to be.
I have rarely been able to translate dreams exactly into stories; "In the Praying Windows" is the closest I've ever written, actually, and half of that is you. There are always so many extra dimensions in the dreams that don't make sense to anyone else on the page.
My first stepfather's parents (my step grandparents, I suppose) lived there back in the '70s, and I remember Orlando as a drowzy sort of nowhere in particular place, all blue crystal springs and citrus groves. I had no idea that it had become such a wasteland of consumerism and superhighways, megachurches and exurbs and McMansions.
I don't know about the megachurches and McMansions, but I do remember that when I was last in Orlando—I was in elementary school—it was dead impossible to find a bookstore anywhere near Disney World or the Epcot Center, which struck me as counterproductive.
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Date: 2007-03-06 06:01 pm (UTC)I have rarely been able to translate dreams exactly into stories; "In the Praying Windows" is the closest I've ever written, actually, and half of that is you. There are always so many extra dimensions in the dreams that don't make sense to anyone else on the page.
My first stepfather's parents (my step grandparents, I suppose) lived there back in the '70s, and I remember Orlando as a drowzy sort of nowhere in particular place, all blue crystal springs and citrus groves. I had no idea that it had become such a wasteland of consumerism and superhighways, megachurches and exurbs and McMansions.
I don't know about the megachurches and McMansions, but I do remember that when I was last in Orlando—I was in elementary school—it was dead impossible to find a bookstore anywhere near Disney World or the Epcot Center, which struck me as counterproductive.