I started this, dont know where it's going

I've just started writing this character, I'm not sure if I'll carry on giving him life as I'm really just trying to get writing again after a long break.Any opinions/ideas?

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He lived like a caged animal in a place of creative discordance where hundreds of papers spanned across the floor from wall to wall. The music of Bach, disconnected and splattered about like litter paper. Old plates of spaghetti slithered onto this great mass of vandalised culture: snaking their way through the great artistic din of dark paintings and the trappings of his rather well loved violin. He had no bed per say, it was merely a mattress shoved against one wall. The bed space was not even sacred from mess and bike parts, climbing equipment and Bob Dylan albums could be easily collided with if you turned on the wrong side during the night. You always got the impression that this space was a painfully single one, as you could hardly pick apart a simple path across it without running into the kinds of things single young men accumulate. A box of tissues was always available and the odd intellectual romance could be found open in the first few opening pages. Without fail.

His reasoning was that he was one man and his violin. He was no good with women and his relationship was with the drug addled nature of his own mind. He cleaned and tuned the violin like a nervous habit, canoodling it in his arms like a great wooden doll as if to fill the gap in a rather mundane existence. An existence where the education system was far away and Mother was the great goddess of the stupid grey jumpers that lined the one door wardrobe and the rest of the obscured floor.

 

i love the euphamism "intellectual romance". that was good for more then a few grins.

i once knew someone who lived a wee bit like that. except his taste did not run to violins. or dilan for that mater.

i think he had a black cat. he also had a gas stove.

oddly enough he did not manage to burn the place down.

your charicter is however a far more fotunate soul then my own similar aquaintence. and here i would prefer to retain your's then mine.

i would so far as to hazard a guess that there is a "people's park" nearby as well as a generous order of fransicans adjacent to it, who serve a quite enjoyable lunch, if one does not mind somewhat cruder company then himself.

i for one prefer more to explore geography then mental landscapes. yet fully realize the need for personalities in story telling just as that for tangable beings of some sort in illustrations, to give focus and scale.

my favorite haunt in that neighborhood to which i've made mention, was a place that sold all manor of mismatched
tecnology surplus at near scrap value prices. who's propriter was somewhat colorful himself, his d.b.a. that of some variation on "insane william" (possibly a relative of william janivour, though this i never inquired).

=^^=
.../\...

 

I think I'm trying to add some kind of conflict now, to cause to story to move a bit. Being a great watcher of people and places I think I might be better at describing places and static moments rather than action. So I might take this character to a place and sort out conflict or identify conflict or something. A gallery in the inner city or the park near by. Are there any tips for how I can get scene description to blend more easily with action?


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Beneath the great mesh of grey woollens was hidden a frame which with more sustenance would be a strong and handsome. As it was, amidst the chaos of everything, he was a pale and precarious tree of being. Long limbed like the son of dryads with an upper torso that suggest the capability of pagan strength. When disengaged from the outside world of his boring store job, his eyes shone impishly from under the blonde and faintly albino thatch of his shoulder length hair. But this didn’t happen often; to the outside word he was just some post-juvenile who’d failed to become one of the academic types who permanently populated the pubs, bars and clubs near the place where he worked.

Gazing languidly, as he often did, he looked across the territory of his domain and found some space in which to take the violin from its case and began to fiddle with the keys nervously. Twanging the strings strangely like an agitated blues-man playing a very small double bass , he kept the same expressionless gaze. He brought the violin to his ear and continued to pluck softly, his other hand over the curved lacquered body. Crossed legged amid fetid tissues he worried about touching or doing anything. Even putting the violin down was something of a brave endeavour.

The bed was the cause of his agitation. Normally, the chance to lie asleep on such a morning was a luxury to his urban bohemian soul but not that day. It was a Red Riding Hood situation: there was someone else in his bed. They were sans apparel and had one foot on some of his records…obscuring the face of Bob Dylan.

 

keep going...*is intrigued*


i really enjoy your character development, it's strong. i can already sympathize for him and his passion. You have breathed life from your words...

 

certainly go with what you're feeling

i'll mention in passing that there are other kinds of challanges then blatent and obvious conflicts, still
thise make take a good bit more doing, and if you're
not familiar with the idea of using them, well they
are what intrest me, engineering and environmental
type challanges, which are why i enjoy science fiction
and fantasy and most mainstream leaves me personaly rather
cold. but i am by far and away the exception (obviously,
otherwise fantasy and science fiction would BE the mainstream) still it is always possible to throw in
a few well placed 'special effects' elements as you go
along.

=^^=
.../\...