Cygnet

Feb. 1st, 2012 11:44 pm
tinhuviel: (Danny Orphaeus)
Working on the 'Eurydice' video today got me to thinking of how Orphaeus got his name. Originally his name was Cygnet, oddly named because Jack Skellington always put me in mind of a Gothic swan.

I had heard Danny Elfman sing before, but never like he did as Jack Skellington. His natural vibrato shining through on some of the loveliest songs ever composed finally pulled me over to The Elfmeister's way of thinking, so much so that a new Vampire was born in my head, belonging totally to Elfman in appearance and in talent. I named him Cygnet, because of my affiliating Jack Skellington with swans, and went to mapping down his origins and alignments. He was originally a party animal kind of Vampire, who also just happened to be one of the greatest singers and performance artists to have ever been born. He was of Austrian origins, being an opera singer in Vienna when he was turned. In modern times, he ran a cabaret in San Francisco and was a "family man," who just happened to have a big crazy party every single night of the week, welcoming both Vampires and humans.

Not long after A Nightmare of Christmas, Oingo Boingo released what was apparently their final studio album. This album boasted the song "Pedestrian Wolves," which would forever alter not only Cygnet, but also the entire Vampire Great Hive. "Pedestrian Wolves" created The Hive of the Beast, a sect within the Great Hive that was responsible for the legends of werewolves. These Vampires were masters at anubis, or shapeshifting, most usually shifting into wolves. They were the origins of the vicious Eastern European vrakshatha, who engaged in the rending and consumption of the flesh of their victims, as well as bathing in the blood they did not drink. Suddenly Cygnet was not as innocent as he had once been. The name of the Vampire was also suddenly quite precious.

So I set to rename the newly-crowned Prince of Beasts, but I wanted to keep him aligned with my beloved "Skellington Swan." It was then that the idea dawned on me that I could rename the character after the greatest musician of all time, Orpheus, whose constellation was Cygnus the Swan. It was perfect, since Cygnet was already a legendary singer. So I altered the spelling of the name a tad and Cygnet became Orphaeus Cygnus.

I so enjoyed writing this character, I found myself ignoring all the others, even Cadmus Pariah. I enjoyed the rest of 1994 and most of 1995 writing about my favourite party animal, and how he and his little family held fetes at their cabaret, and dined on one or two of their guests each night. It was during this time that Orphaeus adopted the serial killer's proclivity for taking souvenirs from his victims. To this day, the Swan still treasures his little leather bag of finger bones he has collected from his victims over the centuries. The two defining songs for Orphaeus became "Pedestrian Wolves" (of course) and the Oingo Boingo party anthem "No One Lives Forever." These allowed Orphaeus to be a monster, yet maintain a mischievous lovability despite his bestial nature.

But somewhere along the line, my demon child Cadmus began clamouring for my attention again, and I found the characters at odds with one another in my mind. Part of me wanted to stay in San Fran and party with the monsters, but the other bigger part of me was compelled to acquiesce to the dark demands of that singular monster who had upstaged all the other Vampires in my immortal pantheon. And so it was that the Pariah and the Swan became enemies. When the characters began battling for my attention, even though I wanted Orphaeus to win out, it was Cadmus who rose victorious. The battle for attention culminated in the scalping of Orphaeus, a vile act that became one of those sublime moments of Vampire legend in my head. It was only years later that the story of that scalping was ever properly told. The legend proper made it into the first book of The Vampire Relics.

Seven years after the birth of Cygnet, while I was still seeking out fellow Shriekback fans on the Internet, I was pointed in the direction of a website run by someone purportedly of interest to Shriekback fans. On the site was a link to another website called 'The Head of Orpheus,' which turned out to be a/the Russell Hoban fan site. Russell Hoban's works, particularly Riddley Walker, have been referred to by Barry Andrews as "Shriekback-required reading." The website I'd been directed to turned out to be a veil behind which Barry Andrews was hiding. He had been the one to link visitors to his site to The Head of Orpheus.

The irony of all that wasn't lost on me, given my characters' histories with their inspirations and one another. Of course, it was all just a little too strange for me too. Either way, it's what got me intrigued with Russell Hoban's works, not because the members of Shriekback suggested his writing, but because of the excerpts from the author's books found on The Head of Orpheus, especially from Pilgermann and The Medusa Frequency (which I quoted in the 'Eurydice' video, a quote using the voice of Eurydice, talking to her beloved Orpheus. It was that writing style I unabashedly tried to emulate when I began writing 'Sui Generis' about a year and a half later.

What's so funny is, Orphaeus Cygnus has never and will never anubis into a swan. That would just be too tame and serious for the likes of him. Cadmus would be more likely to shift into a swan, since he prefers birds (particularly the nighthawk) as his primary species into which to transform when he needs to employ anubis.

Ah, but Orphaeus possesses the ethereal beauty of the swan in his soul. When I look at his Cygnus alignment, I never fail to see Jack Skellington walking slowly up the curly hill, his thin, graceful form illuminated by the giant moon behind him. He will forever be my Gothic Swan, my Cygnet.

And here's what triggered my tip-toe down Memory Lane.

tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)
30 Day Meme )
15. Midway question! Tell us about a writer you admire, whether professional or not!
I could talk about many including Stephen King and JRR Tolkien, who are both very influential to me, but I want to talk about someone more obscure than that to bring him a little bit of notice, at least in my corner of the world. His name is Russell Hoban. I was introduced to his work by Barry Andrews, who noted Russell Hoban as being inspirational to some of Shriekback's work. He's known mainly in America as an author of children's books, but he has quite the repertoire of novels across the pond.

The first book of his that I read was The Medusa Frequency. It's dreamy language and loose plot tugged at me in a way never before. I loved his prose; I was hooked. I moved on to Riddley Walker, which is difficult to follow for the first couple of pages but, afterward, you find yourself reading in a totally different language based on English and understanding every word. It's hard not to talk in Riddley speak for long after you've finished the book. If you want to get an idea of how to read Riddley Walker, just rent Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome and get to where Max is taken in by the tribe of children near the end of the movie. The kids talk just like Riddley Walker. The book that really pulled me into a full-blown love affair with Russell Hoban was Pilgermann. The way Russell Hoban writes in this and the ideas he presents is nothing short of beautiful. Even in the face of every human atrocity, he finds beauty and relays it in a language that makes your heart swell. If you haven't read any of Hoban's work, I strongly suggest you do. He's a treasure that's buried too deep here in America.
tinhuviel: (Cads)
I've written about 500 words today, but I finally got down the tale of Thanatos and Virginia Dare. When I was a kid, Aunt Tudi and Granny ordered me a book from Readers Digest entitled American Folklore and Legend. Even as a wee tot, I had little regard for American anything except for the short period of time in 1979 when I became a flag-waving idiotic Reagan supporter. It was the Iran hostage crisis and I was young and dumb, so don't hold it against me. Anyway, I just wasn't into my country's history, folklore, or Yankee Doodle tall tales. But one story always held me enthralled and that was the story of Virginia Dare and the Roanoke Colony. So, when I first started making notes on what would eventually become The Chalice, I decided to intertwine her story with that of Thanatos'. Up until today, Virginia was Thanatos' vampire lover. I've changed that now. Now, Virginia was raised by Thanatos, who was witness to what happened to the Roanoke settlers and had to see the same thing happen to his beloved adopted daughter. I never mention exactly what happened to the colony, just that a great darkness was visited upon them. It could mean disease, a curse, mass murder, whatever. All that I say is that Virginia, being connected to the colonists, is affected physically by the same darkness when she turned 20, forcing Thanatos to transform her into a vampire. But the transformation is only a delay for her imminent demise. So yeah.


Tonight we're supposed to enjoy temperatures in the mid-30s. Last night our low was 62. That's almost a 30 degree difference. We're all going to die.


I was thinking about Granny earlier. She used to make humourous grocery lists in her later days when she could no longer go to the store herself. She'd give the list to Aunt Tudi and she and I would take care of bidness for all of us. One day, she made this particularly amusing list, which Aunt Tudi and I laughed out with a mighty fervour. That same day, Aunt Tudi had an appointment to get her hair cut. The grocery list fell out of her pocket at the beauty shop, which was one of those hoity-toity Steel Magnolias holes in the wall. So some biddy at the beauty shop got a list that had the following items on it:

  • 4 cans vyeenie a-weenies (translation: 4 cans of Vienna Sausages)

  • 3 pounds chicken boobs (3 pounds of chicken breasts)


To this day, I call them chicken boobs.


I have a cup of Sleepytime Tea steeping. Here's hoping it will help with my serious caffeine hangover.


I communicated with Barry last night. He's perplexed as to why I haven't yet received a copy of "Cormorant." Apparently, I actually was on his list of folks to receive a complimentary copy. I told him it didn't matter 'cos I was planning on paying for a copy of the CD regardless. So I may end up with two copies of the CD and I'm already on the waiting list for one of the Great Eggs. This makes me exceedingly happy.

I'm tossing around the idea of sending him a copy of The Chalice, but I'm leaning toward not sending it to him. The book is a homage to purple prose because I like purple prose; however, I'm afraid that Barry would find it tedious and point a finger of doom in my general direction. Then again, he does like the work of Russell Hoban, whose mastery of the grandiose writing style is beloved of many of us, including myself. Here's a lovely sampling of Mr. Hoban's ability:

The world vibrates like a crystal in the mind; there is a frequency at which terror and ecstasy are the same and any road might be taken. ~~ from The Medusa Frequency

Each of us is the forward point of a procession stretching back into the darkness. And even within oneself, every moment is a self that dies: the road to each day's midnight is littered with corpses and all of them whispering. ~~ from Fremder


Now, in no way am I comparing myself to Russell Hoban. I am but a speck of filth lucky enough to have been exposed to his brilliance. But he is a master of purple prose and he gives weeblets like myself hope that the art of such writing is not extinct. But I digress. My dilemma is whether or not to send the finished The Chalice (or the first draft as it is) to Barry. Do I want to open myself up to that? Would he even read it? Would it be an exercise in the Realm of the Pathetic for me to send it to him? Is it an exercise in the Realm of the Pathetic for me to even entertain the idea?

But he has a right to see what he's inspired. He has a right to know if he should retain a lawyer so he can sue me for defamation of character, albeit in a wholly honourable fangirl way. Blah! I don't know what to do. Maybe I should make a poll. I sure as hell ain't gonna get anymore serious writing done tonight. I'm too spazzed out.


I'm wearing toe socks for the first time this season. I have ten little blocks of ice in lieu of toes. Verily do I suffer. And my lips are seriously chapped. I've raw spots on my lower lip. In fact, I'm convinced that my lip will fall off in the middle of the night only to be devoured by one of the dogs as a midnight snack. I will then lie in bed on a respirator and buy items Hannibal Lecter has touched and ponder my revenge with the cunning use of genetically altered boars.


It pisses me off, the slaughter of trees this time of year. Everyone who kills a tree for the holidays should have that tree shoved up their chocolate wizways. Then again...not everyone has a black Nightmare Before Christmas tree to trim like yours truly. Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh. No. Tree killers be damned!!

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