Paris Pt. 4

Oh look, some more Paris essay-eque things:

The Paris Relapse

So you go on with your life like you never saw Paris; like you never ran your hands over the spines of ancient books in those green boxes along the Seine, like you never ran out of a café and left your hot chocolate waiting to catch a glimpse of the Republican Guard, like you never went weak in the knees when you laid eyes on la Notre Dame at night, all lit up and glowing.

And then you open that folder on your computer of the pictures that you took while you were there.

And it's the heat wave all over again.

You close your eyes as tight as you can and it still doesn't conjure up those priceless hours of pure inspiration that you experienced, so you dig out that coat you wore when you saw the l'Arc de Triomphe and even though the coat is long and black and all wool felt and it's August, you slide it over your shoulders and you can smell the cigarettes and the coffee and the bakeries that smell like home, although you can't quite tell why.

And you wrap the scarf that you bought in a little boutique around your neck just the way you wore it there and then something in your mind clicks.

And you declare that you have to go back to Paris; that you have to see the Eiffel Tower one more time and drink little strong coffees out of pretty little mugs; that you will absolutely die if you don't see the golden gates of Versailles again.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

P.S. I am trying to conjure up interesting things to write on here, but as far as I can tell, I should focus on the fact that I'm having trouble meeting my word count for Camp NaNoWriMo.  Later, okay?

Paris Pt. 3

I wrote two follow ups to those strange Paris essays that I wrote when I got back to the States.  Here is the third chunk:

The Paris Cure

You go home after Paris, feeling exhausted, like someone has kept you up at a party far past your bedtime, but your mind is still trying to process all that you've seen.  In any case, you drag yourself home, falling out of bed in your room above the discotheque that never seems to close, and you get in the car and you take the connection to Amsterdam and stumble through the Amsterdam airport that is really like a city, but all you can think about is Paris.

You think about Paris as you hand your ticket to the attendant, and you think about Paris as you find your seat and you think about Paris like you're some sort of character in a romantic tragedy, and you've just remembered that childhood sweetheart that you swore you'd go back to someday.  And you remember Paris like that childhood sweetheart but before you can do anything, the plane takes off and all you can do is read the Dutch airline magazine about some new line of men's watches.

You think about Paris for about a week after you get back from France, before falling blindly back into normalcy and nearly forgetting your love.  It's like you've gone through a very effective, very painless stint in rehab.

And you speak French in class, and you read that book you picked up from that store in France, and you try your very best to remember that annoying discotheque and that mother and her two sons on the train and how beautiful some people look with smoke swirling out of their mouths like little deadly ghosts.

But it's no use, and you've been cured; cured of your sickness, cured of your addiction, and cured of your love.  And you should feel a huge hole in your chest, but you don't.  It's like it never happened.

Later.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

NaNoWriMo Will Be the Death of Me

Honestly, Nano, one month was enough, wasn't it?  One month of painfully delicious writing was enough for us.  One month of tough love from the forums and pep talks from you lovely folk was enough.

But then there was Screnzy, right?  And of course even us novelists jumped right on it.  One more month; what harm could it do?

And now CampNaNoWriMo?  Two more months?  Of course, I know we can choose which month, but still.

All I can say is:

You rock.

Thank you for transporting the idea of NaNo to the summer when I have more time. (Not that I do).

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

The Amazon Breakthrough Novel

Several months ago, I entered Alex in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest.  However, he did not make it past the first round, and I accepted that and moved on.

The winners have been announced and I congratulate them and hope to join their ranks someday.

However, for entering in the contest, I received a discount code for one free book from CreateSpace.  Now, I quite adore that website, but I find myself struggling to make a decision.

Do I resubmit Alex (this time without the horrendous formatting) or do I finish Naomi in the upcoming eight weeks and submit that?  We shall see.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

Paris Pt. 2

More of that weird Paris essay thing:

#

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.

#

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

Happy (Late) New Year!

My friends are so good to me.  They get me notebooks for Christmas.

Now, I'm just warning you, I'm going to be out of the States for a while.  This will either mean absolutely no posting (normal) or over-posting.

And...ah...I started Alex, Version 2.0, which basically means the sequal.  I know you're not supposed to write the sequel if no one has read the first one, but I don't care.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler