ME: It's nice out today. I should wear flip flops!
[roughly five seconds after leaving my apartment in the flip flops]
ME: *sobbing* Why do I always make decisions that end up hurting me in the end?
COP: You need to get up off the sidewalk, ma'am.
"Oslo in the Summertime" by of Montreal
I'm back to working on the second book in the Renaissance Experiment trilogy now, but last week I took a break to clear my head and splash around in a few of my other works in progress. I spent most of the week editing my monster novel, Moorhouse, but I also did some conceptual work on a science fiction project of mine, tentatively titled Tabula Rasa.
Halfway through writing Moorhouse I found a song that I could imagine playing during the opening credits of the movie version of my novel. Despite being a severe case of thinking way too far ahead, this really helped crystallize in my mind what the important themes were of what was at the time an overly complicated story.
For Tabula Rasa I imagine "Oslo in the Summertime" playing right at the beginning of the story's first scene. A group of young adults wake up on a beautiful but deserted island, and no one has any memory of who they are or how they got there. There's something in this song that just perfectly captures for me how unsettling an experience like that would truly be, how a person might almost become sort of numb and just float through it all, because what else could you do?