It is sometimes difficult to appreciate the fear induced inspiration that being around an emotionally unstable person brings. I suppose the best way to find it again is to write her as she was and may still be.
A quick list of things that come to mind:
-Cheating-Caught her passed out drunk with some guy in my bed
-Addiction-Ultra-angry drunk, possible well-hidden meth addiction
-Crying-Very upset and untrusting pretty much all the time
-Fighting-Punched me with little provocation no less than twice, picked fights with strangers
-Her hair fell out-Possibly as a result of our relationship; I was blamed anyway
He knew she was watching. Each word had to be ordered in a unique, yet muted manner in an effort to convey nothing that might imply some reference to their relationship or his suspected objective observations thereof. The challenge of course being; how does a writer write when the potential inspiration for his writing is repulsed at the idea of being referenced in any way? The answer of course is that the writer does not write about this person, but instead guides his content abstrusely from the sphere of her subjection.
He had been caught once before and the experience was not unlike being branded with a typical red-hot iron. There was some aspect of safety in this current thought in that the reference was not direct enough to be classified as anything outside of the fictional account of a situation. Except of course the last sentence which with proper explanation could refer to a fictional character writing in perceived safety, when in fact he is not safe at all, ever.
Six digits on a freely rotating axis with a depressable tread in center that would trigger a spinning grip. To traditionally steer a wheel with such an apparatus would be unecessary in that the wheel; being held by the tread palmed appendage(s), would be moved by the motion of the spinning tread in favor of the push and pull that is generally employed to direct a vehicle.
He realized that there were construction workers on the roof next door, but she never paid too much attention to her surroundings.
He decided that he needed to write something, anything, and even though he was disgusted at the idea he decided to write an adventure. The story he began to construct concerned a man who took over the world by developing a device that used the planet’s magnetic field to drag asteroids into orbit and ultimately smash them into cities. He found his idea amusing and tried to think of any other way to progress, but was unable. A hero was constructed, the Ruler was cast in a gray light, and the hero informed him that ruling with fear is not ruling at all. Unfortunately for the hero the Ruler has a very competent staff who were able to dispatch said hero quite handily before the 40th page.
He was quite confident throughout the process however that this idea must have been used in some obscure comic book from the 1930’s or something, but persisted with back stories on not only the Ruler, but of the dead hero and secret hero to come. Incidentally, the hero to come was the man or woman that murdered the first hero, with an axe. The development of an antihero was very entertaining in that he could now frame a character who was not only flawed, but had killed the last best hope of the planet.
She was happy to see that he had handled himself admirably considering the situation. This prompted her to take a more cordial approach to the man than she had originally planned. He had no problem consuming alcohol to cope with the perpetually banal conversation, which made him appear considerably competent when compared to her recently frequented boys. She continued to drink, not fearing inebriation in her home, as she enjoyed more and more the versatility of the man’s replies to her roommates inanity.
How does one write one story with another? It can be compared teaching someone how to use a hand tool and watching them build a chair with it. I suppose that in many instances books do write themselves, as the characters and the stage on which they’ve been set make it clear to the author what they would like to be doing.
Some stories and books are singularities (Notes from Underground, excluding Apropos of Wet Snow, because Underground did write that and it may or may not be a fictionalized reason for his neurosis). What I am looking for is an entire story that has the ability to create another, not a mash up, which are a pox upon current writing. I’m not going to rant on all the things that are wrong with this approach to writing, other than it is a symptom of larger problems.
Back on topic, not something like Cloud Atlas, which is very fluffy (like a cloud!) and not for me. I suppose that the shadow cast by some monstrousity of a book can be considered a book in its own right. What would the shadow of a Ulysses be? Maybe The Great Gatsby or something similarly converse. I suspect that the shadow of a piece of art or literature is a naturally occurring thing and is only clear after the cultural dust from a heavy impact has settled.