Helen

"They said she had a face that launched a thousand ships. I saw the ships. I saw the soldiers. I never saw Helen. Later, I realized that was because I was Helen. They never told me."

Anyone have any input about whether or not I should persue that?

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

Paris Pt. 2

More of that weird Paris essay thing:

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The Paris Love Affair


Paris doesn't stop there. You realize that what you thought was a dangerous virus is actually an equally dangerous yet insanely thrilling addiction that's potentially just as destructive as cocaine; but unlike cocaine, you might get something productive out of this addiction even if it's just a three line poem.

And that's when your addiction turns into full blown infatuation. You start seeing the little things, like how the silent owners of the equally quiet, cozy cafes smile and nod when you apologize for eating pastries from another bakery, or how people may be discourteous enough to smoke like chimneys, but courteous enough to blow the smoke up away from your face, or how the train station security guard on a smoking break directs you to his favorite cafe without you even asking.

And just when you think Paris can't get any more beautiful, you see a mother put her two young sons on a train for the countryside near Lyon with slightly tearful hugs and kisses and you watch as another woman runs to catch her train, her gray cocker spaniel jogging faithfully behind her.

And you think that maybe this isn't an addiction any more than it is a virus, that maybe, just maybe, Paris loves you back.

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TTFN

M.K.Wissler

Paris

So, when I was in Paris, like I said, I was very inspired, and I wrote a little thing.  You should have seen me.  I was hunched over my phone, typing this little thing out.  I've censored it, by the way, but my mom suggested I post it, so I will.

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The Paris Sickness


The inspiration here is so intense it's almost mythical. It hits you like a heat wave right as you enter the city limits. Like a heat wave, insanely hot and going a million miles a minute. It floods your brain like you've just burst a vessel in your mind that until now held all of your imagination, concentrated like a can of soup.

And it only gets worse. You walk from the Seine to the Eiffel Tower dodging the overly persistent venders who walk up to you, jangling their metal hoops strung with miniature Eiffel Towers and all you can think is that you wish you had your notebook or your laptop or at the very least a napkin and a pen.

It consumes you in less than three hours; it seeps through your veins until you just want to open an artery and write in your own blood to get it out of your system.

But you can't. It's not a virus, not really. Even though it infects you and there's absolutely no cure in the world, it's not a virus.

It's an addiction. Because you just know, as your eyes desperately drink in everything you see, that after you leave, you'll be aching to come back. You'll thirst for it until you find yourself back in the City of Light with two thousand years of history at your fingertips.

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TTFN

M.K. Wissler

Back Again

I'm back from France, and, as was anticipated, nothing happened on this blog.  Lots happened in France, though.  I finally learned how to ski.  Yes, I never learned how to ski when I was younger.

My host family took me to Paris and Versailles and I encountered the mystical, magical incredibly awesome inspiration that hits you in Paris.  Seriously.  It's mythical.  I wrote a little something about it, but I was in a pretty weird mood and ergo there are lots of bad words. 

I liked Paris, but (and don't kill me)  I thought Versailles was prettier.  It was calmer, quieter, and people didn't try to run me over.  I visited the Palace at Versailles and I got mega-inspired.

This new story might very well be the next big obsession for me, mainly because it's just easier to talk about.

For example:  When I wanted to talk about Erika, I told people:

"It's kind of like a mystery novel.  With a teenaged hacker...and a murder.  Well, a couple murders.  Okay, so there's this psycho heiress and this airplane designer..."

And when I wanted to talk about Alex, I told people:

"So it's post apocalyptic, and there's this man who wakes up on a train with a baby and no memories for the past nine years, and he used to work for the government and he fought Lamia, which are kind of like zombies mixed with vampires..."

But with this new one, I just say:

"It's based on the Romanovs."

and people say:

"Oh, alright.  Cool!"

So easy.  In other news, I got Alex published through CreateSpace with a proof copy and I already have people lined up to read it!  Its formatting is all whack like Erika's, but in the other direction.  Erika had huge margins and teeny print while this one has huge print and no margins.  It makes it easier to read, but it looks pretty strange.

TTFN

M.K.Wissler