Unable to see my way clear to query the magazines about the ‘Astral’ reconstruction (see previous post), I embarked on a fearless and searching literary enterprise: I located and poked around in some old letters and journals, concentrating on the journals written during my college days.
I was a music student in Boston between 1973 and 1977. I attended the Boston Conservatory of Music and earned a Bachelor of Music degree, majoring in composition. I can’t say that it’s been a useless degree, since I still earn my living with skills that I picked up in Boston.
The striking thing about my writing in Boston was its vividness. Admittedly, objective judgement is difficult. The writing triggers memories in me the way an old song might. Nevertheless, there were some very entertaining set pieces and bits of outright fiction. At least early on, there were few eye rolling moments. Much drug use is reported, but this is an essential element of the experience and thus, the ‘plot.’
The next step was to take some of the set pieces and type them up, fixing and embellishing as I went. I concentrated on certain threads of interest. Sexual exploits, of course, especially where there was smoke but no fire… these were fascinating (to me) tales. The circle of friends in those days was rich. Looking around me now, I know of many young people living lives as extraordinary if not more, possessed of equal if not greater talent, and, were I able to get beneath the surface (which I cannot because of my role as instructor, mentor, or perhaps simply ‘geezer’), I’m sure I would discover a similar level of exploration of all facets of life in process, including, probably, drugs and sex. It’s a different age, of course. There was no AIDS in 1976 to scare the bejesus out of us. The government had, of course, already criminalized drugs. It was difficult to get decent psychedelics by then, but it could be done. Then too, we approach the whole drug use enterprise as a scholarly, didactic, academic pursuit. We read all the books. We prepare.
(By the way… slipping into this ‘present perfect tense while speaking of the past… it’s a bad habit.)
The difficulty of obtaining drugs that were not ‘mislabeled’ (or mis-marketed) was itself a theme of the experience. “Nearly dying of an overdose of rat poison does indeed produce an altered state of consciousness, but sometimes one goes beyond the ‘almost.'” (I quote from memory, but I think it’s Humphry Osmond.)
But never mind all of this. What went on to the page as a recording of events and impressions is more akin to fiction than non. (I’ve always embellished to the point of out and out lying.) There is a problem: the cast of characters, with one exception, is a still living and connected group. Changing the names may or may not stave off legal difficulties if publication (with critical notice and any sort of sales) became a possibility. (Is this even likely enough to even worry about at this point?) Many of the names have already been changed in the text. They are nicknames or code names, and in some cases the actual names mean nothing. Memory is not perfect.
Problem: there are too many people even in a set piece for the bounds of ordinary short fiction. Problem: there is a distinct lack of narrative arc overall, and very little real conflict. What conflict there is develops as a result of character issues and misunderstanding. It is the misunderstanding itself that makes the fact into fiction. There is no getting at the facts, and no interest (by me) in doing so. I have more interest in going the rest of the way and letting the characters, as they present themselves, evolve into having lives of their own .
But what about the idea that nobody dies, or even has a catharsis? There are few, if any epiphanies, and very little learning takes place. Yes, I learned some music theory and the rudiments of playing the piano. I learned forms and wrote fugues. Who cares? It’s the other stuff, the life stuff that’s interesting (to me). And in these realms, there is very little redemption.
Can a story exist without conflict?
(Seinfeld show: trying to sell the TV executive, played by Balban, on ‘the show about nothing,’ we hear the exchange:
“Why am I watching it?”
“Because it’s on television.”
“Not yet it’s not.”)
Perhaps its time to try some experiments.