I got a postcard from Elizabeth today that is a photograph of the Opera Garnier in Paris, at early dusk. There must be lots of people on their way to the evening’s performance in it, or off to a delectable meal at the restaurant that you can see sitting adjacent to the opera house. Traffic looks pretty bad — but on the whole I’d be pretty happy to be stuck in a traffic jam, if I could arrange to do it in Paris at early dusk.

The Opera Garnier, according to Elizabeth’s postcard and my vague memory of a childhood obsession, is where the Phantom is supposed to live. Did I ever tell you that when I was thirteen years old I wrote half of the libretto for a prequel to the Phantom of the Opera, based on this book? We were going to produce it as a class, you see. Me and my best friends. We had almost gotten to the auditioning stage when one of us (not me) discovered boys or something and we never finished the thing. I never told you? Let’s see if I can remember any of the words.

…..

Damn, I was sure I could still call up the wrenchingly tragic song I wrote for the scene where the Phantom’s mother looks at the deformed face of her baby and laments over it with great sighing and teary angst. But now all I think I can be sure of is that I rhymed “conceal” with “reveal,” and that there was something in there about “the monster I’ve created.” It was a very dramatic scene. I’m sure I wanted to play that part, as a matter of fact, which is why I wrote all her songs first. I know I still have that particular scrap of lyric buried in a box somewhere at home, so the next time I go to Singapore I’ll dig it up for you.

Because I know you’re dying to hear it.

Anyway, it’s an embarrassing project to talk about now, but the reason I was so excited about writing that prequel to the Phantom is because it was all tied up with that wonderful, prickly adrenaline that comes when you tell an old, old story that everybody knows, but you begin it a little earlier. What’s great about it is that you’re working with archetypes, so you’ve got a whole set of heavy, mystical associations that already exist and that you can’t help but conjure up — but at the same time you get to feel like you’re creating those associations from scratch. It’s deeply thrilling. I saw Batman Begins tonight and was suitably thrilled. Ross and I have to watch lots of superhero movies and read comics because we’re in the researching stage of our project at the moment. I really think we have to start in the middle of the story and then go back and tell the beginning, because dude, origin stories are so incredibly satisfying. I will never get tired of watching myth-creation movies or reading myth-creation books — even the bad ones send shivers down my spine.

I love witnessing the births of stories.

Picture o’ the day taken New Year’s Day, 2005. I cannot fathom how it became the middle of June.