then the desire is not to write.
- Hugh Prather
Friday, December 30, 2011
Cell phones and tea
I wish I knew her number, so I could call her, so the phone would ring.
But I don't know what I'd say.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Boxing Day Poems for 2011
i.
Every shop burns a
desperate neon shade
Colours have voices
pleading: Come Please
We have things you don't need
We are dying
Feed us
We step past the signs to drop
pennies in charity baskets
hearts hard against their need
ii.
Sally sat under the mistletoe
Sally waited for a boy or girl
No one offered a kiss or a smile;
Something dark settled in her to grow.
Sally's Christmas list asked for no pearls,
No Rudolph, no sleigh, no winter snows.
"Only those with souls are worth my while."
Still a sigh from Santa's beard unfurled.
"Even Santa can't --?" She bit back bile.
"Something is missing in you, you know,
I can't hide it; I'm sorry my girl."
So he kissed her; she gave him a smile.
iii.
"What have we done to deserve this?"
she whispered, the presents piled deep
under the tree threatening an avalanche
of bargains tumbling on them.
"We don't need any of it," she said, and he
thought of how Santa was credit cards and
he smiled and whispered: "Fine, I will
take it all back, broken."
And then he swung the golf clubs
twice, sickened by her
sanctimony while the TV
belted out Joy to the World.
iv.
This year they're sharing memories,
unwrapping the past to the present
and letting sadness become laughter.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Lines that do NOT belong in YA fiction ....
... sometimes I really, really suck at writing YA :p
OTOH, this version of Falling Toward The Sky has over a single page before any dialogue is spoken which makes it nicely odd for me. I swear, if I ever manage to finish this story people would look at the first draft and think someone else had written it.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Treading on landmines
In response to said PC I made Mary-Anne and Stanley Throckmorton living in the same building as they do. She is the girl next door, friendly and polite and probably wanting to be more than friends with Jackson, while Stanley is about 12 or so, autistic and has a bad habit of biting and hitting people. It's heavily implied Stanley breaks into Jackson's apartment some days just to watch Thalia, whom he seems to find fascinating.
He doesn't have to worry about facial cues -- for her, only Jackson is real -- and Stanley will gladly just sit and watch her for hours on end. As the player pointed out, the entire scene in-game is deeply unsettling. 'Oh, just another zombie tending my zombie. How cute.' It was an interesting and creepy scene and the player got the metaphor of it (and how, like all metaphors, the map and territory don't meet), but the whole thing got me thinking.
(Note: there IS more going on with the concept of Thalia and Stanley, but such things are spoilers for the game and the player could find this page... :))
I'd never do a scene like in any novel -- the amount of people such a crude concept of autism would needlessly offend would be staggering and while it works in response to the character the player made setting up a novel where that would come into play would be too, well, preachy in some ways and veer into after-school special territory in the end. Possibly. Somehow. I tend to apply the same rational to mental illness: such things aren't as simple as the broad strokes fiction has to use to fit them into a story.
I found it interesting that one of the things running games is, for me, is an outlet for ideas and concepts I'd never use otherwise because of that issue of landmines. So, what about you? Are there metaphors you'd never use in novels or concepts you'll never write about because it's too easy to offend with it?
Friday, December 02, 2011
Bloody hell (a post about writing)
This is damn depressing on a number of levels :p
The worst part is that I have one other novel that, in various iterations totals 201,227 words. The actual novel that resulted from all that -- Monsters & Miracles -- was 67,000 of those words and is entirely impossible to compare to the first draft of the story, which is kind of cool in its own way. Almost nothing from the first drafts survived at all, which is at least proof of a kind of progress even if it, too, can be seen as depressing.
I also have a trilogy in progress whose accumulated word count is 137,000 words which seems reasonable enough as it includes one finished draft of the first novel, 4K of the second novel, partial revised draft of the first and notes for the entire series.
(For the curious few, Boy & Fox is over 80K, not including 50+ handwritten pages I've yet to type up. Which isn't surprising given there are entire chapters of the first draft that no one else ever saw. It was very strange to be submitting a story to a writing group and editing entire chapters of the future story out of it in the process, which is one clue why it stalled so very badly.)
OTOH, the accumulated word count of some of the projects in some way forces a finished draft, as it did with M&M and has in many ways with the Rites series. I tend to be the sort of writer who leaps from idea to idea and concept to concept, seldom bothering to ever really go back and edit/revise novels since the new is always luring me on. However, thanks(?) to the writing group I tend to stop novels mid-stride, revise it as a new draft and what emerges at the end of an absurdly large word count is at least a more functional finished first draft.
Or so I am telling myself right now :)
Thursday, December 01, 2011
nanowrimo .. 2012
So here is one possibly plot for next year: a haiku detective mystery involving as part of its plot the use of brazil nuts to murder someone during sex (afaik they are the only nut they can be transmitted via sex, hence killing someone with a nut allergy via it). Said knowledge was derived via TV shows and then the internet, so all is good.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
On using vampires
All monsters tend to be a reflection of the era they're in, echoes and statements about man and humanity. But it's harder to have a dark mirror when what we as humans do is generally plenty dark enough. So vampires -- like angels -- mutated into something closer to superheroes, to beings with powers and Kewl Stuff that, in the case of vampires, they had to not want. So, angst. Because living forever and never seeing the sun again is such a burden that vampires could never find it awesome or decide to fight crime or at least get a life. Or unlife.
As a side note, I have this theory that the transformation to a werewolf can easily be bracketed onto being a teenager: it would be interesting to take vampire and fit it into mid-life crisis, say. Stories about vampires endure because they are flexible in this manner: we choose what kind of story we tell with them, we shape the myth to fit the story that gets told. And not all stories with vampires in them are about vampires at all. (It is hard to write about vampires these days and not include a Twilight reference. This was that.)
In my case, I wanted to do horror. I have the setting, the idea of the vampire fits it. In this case, the vampire is a stand-in for a viral plague at the level of metaphor. But that doesn't stop the vampires from believing they are vampires or, in some cases, becoming movie/novel kinds of vampires thanks to using magic that comes with no instruction manual at all. I have posited the vampires as the origin of the black death and had one character claim a single vampire could exterminate the planet of human life in about 2 months. Whether this will be enough, in terms of narrative or craft, will be an exercise for the beta readers to hash over.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
An update on writing....
Rites of Exorcism is different: for good or ill I have not been able to get it out out of my head even after writing it as a nanowrimo story. Short stories and novel ideas for the world keep coming to me, and as such I completed the first actually finished draft of the Book of Going Forth during nano, waited two days, and began work in the sequel. It is tentatively titled The Book of the Never-Dead * and I figure writing it will also make editing the first book -- which I plan to do after writing this story -- more interesting. I've never tried this method of writing/editing before and never written a true sequel, so shall see how it goes.
This story also has vampires. Which will be the subject of another post.
* I very much doubt the novel titles will remain come later drafts; as echos of the Egyptian cosmology they do work but as actual titles they're pretty clunky.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Facebook & Google+ Status Updates part VI
"Oh, grace? No, we don't say that in this house.But I see someone is late bringing the black goat for the sacrifice."
If the internet is a city, where are you located in it?
I wonder what it would do if I remove all facebook ads by listing them as 'sexually explicit' ...
Bob was pretty certain the devil didn't want his soul when the last temptation offered was an expired can of soup.
Alice was shocked to discover that it only took three bottles of Uncle Alvin's hooch to replicate Wonderland entirely.
A potential starting line for a bad story....
The night unfurls itself like a great dark thing.
"The point of stories is to use lies to tell the truth."
"Is Amy a demon?"
"Liking school doesn't mean your friend has a demon inside them," I said dryly.
"Oh." Sasha thought that over. "Could I learn an exorcism anyway, to be safe?"
Useless Fact About Myself: I owe two ties. I have worn neither.
Useless Fiction About Myself: I tell people I hate blueberries so no one will blame me when they're all eaten.
It was the eyes that said he was older than he seemed, for they were hollow and empty, the green of things seeping from wounds
... You can tell I'm writing Young Adult, right?
"I could take you south," the fox said once it became obvious Boy would not dream of asking such a thing.
"With me? Really?" Boy grinned his foolish grin. "Why?"
"I doubt your life will be boring and I abhor boredom," the fox said, which was the truth, for the truth can be the most clever lie of all.
"I do not find it wise to do what I cannot undo. No one should unless they have considered what they cannot do once they have done it."
Last night a Sleep Thief stole my sleep. They take hours from us and sell it to the highest bidder. If you know someone who is poor and yet well-rested, then you know why.
(They say the warlords and politicians of the world pay so much for a decent night's sleep. So very much.)
Idea for a world (probably an rpg), based on fans having fits over George Lucas changing the SW movies:
A world where the gods act like Lucas does. Each day, you wake up to find the world tweaked a little more, creation an on-going class project ....
"I'm not saying the lawyer IS a demon," I said. "I'm just saying that's the safe way to bet."
If you could be the death for one person, who would it be?
"I left her for a week. One week, and she emailed me with updates about her life, begging me to come back to her. Even about the lives of strangers, if you can believe it. I think if I left for over a month, Fb would stalk me down and drag me online."
... this message has been brought to you from Venice, which is made of awesome. That is all.
Boy dearly wanted to ask what made someone a witch, but his common sense finally kept him silent on that. "Oh," he said instead, which could mean very many things.
"Quite," the witch said to one of those things.
Recycling bins with the arrows in reverse recycle intangibles: memories, dreams -- some say even souls.
We all know deep in our hearts that the gates of Heaven and Hell are closed. Tourists ruin everything.
Fun in Italy: Having seen far too many pieces of Mary and Jesus art, Jesse and I now critique each one based on how realistic the baby Jebus looks: does he look like a real baby? An adult? Is the head too small? It does liven up otherwise pedestrian and samey art.
"Of course I don't hate you." The witch smiled at Boy. "One must care about something to hate or love it at all, and I care for you not at all."
Today's unfact: the ruins of pompei were made 60 years ago out of papier mache in a bid to woo tourists to the region. The alleged historicity of them is due to time travellers (all of whom have grossly overdue library books).
Interesting fact on the Palentine Hill in rome: the ruins go down two levels, none of which are open to the public. Which means the fee we paid to walk them was akin to someone offering you a tour of their house via walking on the roof and trying to convince you that you'd seen the house.
According to modern theology, purgatory is a train station platform that no train ever stops at.
Things I could not convince my brother to do in rome: run up and stand beside a police officerin riot gear so I can take a picure of both of them. (You will note I did not volunteer to do this myself, but a leader must sacrifice his happiness for others.)
from nanowrimo notes on a character:
Randall (Never Randy, not any more) was a quiet kid, the kind of kid who didn't have any imaginary friends because they'd be busy visiting other more interesting kids.
He was wide awake at 3:33 am. They called it jet lag, among other things, but he was certain the Conspiracy wanted everyone to think that was all it was. He had shifted in time, days become other days, and he wondered if any other time traveller truly understood the power this gave them, or if they all just tried to 'adjust' back to normal like the Conspiracy wanted.
The weather in Rome is colder now, which is probably for the best since last week the Pope woke up and thought he'd died.
This years Nanowrimo notes have a section entitled 'major characters not appearing in this novel'.
"What if there is a limit to the amount of pain we can internalize? What happens to you when you reach it?"
The other smiled. "I have a knife. I spread it around."
Nano snippet of the day:
"There are things outside the darkness that mean us harm," I said quietly. "And we can burn brightly if we aren't careful, dragging them to this world like moths to a flame and extinguishing entire towns and cities in our greed, because they offer us power we haven't the wit or courage to refuse."
Nano at 11K, so here is a snippet from today:
In the dream my mom cries as my dream-grandmother's bitter words that fill the world like thunder, and that is finally enough to wake me: I never saw my parents cry even once when they were alive. They were exorcists and any tears they might have shed were held back for a later that never came.
4K written today, a snippet thereof:
That the instruction manual for the coffeemaker weighed more than Damien's computer had amused him to no end, but drinking instant coffee was not one of the sacrifices I was prepared to make to be an exorcist.
6K or so today on nano, snippet:
Mind you, odd theories can be applied to most any family with a long history."
"Like the royal family being seven foot tall lizards?"
"No; that's just stupid."
"You're the one saying this family has an au pair that is over a hundred years old."
"I know X looks bad, but you have to remember X gets a lot of abuse, always used in equations, never an answer, shunned by the other letters. You never see pythagorus use X, never see it as a real answer. It's always paired with Y, which as post-structuralist feminism tells us is a clear indicator of indicative gender inequality."
Ripped a page out of a notebook from 2004 to use as scrap paper and found written on it, under a dentist appointment, the following two things in point form:
- Necropuppet.
- Hitler Choose Your Own Adventure
... I think this means I should make sure I burn all my old notebooks before I die.
Nano slowly moves ahead. An excerpt:
"I'm sorry for this," I said to Emily.
"As sorry as you should be?" she said, and if there was malice in her voice she hid it well behind breeding.
"Whoever is?"
Writing typo of the day:
"I wiggled free of his arm" does not work if one actually writes "I widdled free of his arm".
Anyone else waiting for news about the elves and Occupy North Pole? If Santa isn't the 1%, I don't know what is.
Little known facts about the devil:
* When She goes shopping on Earth, She only pays in pennies
* You will known She is near when your cell phone rings and it's a spam caller
* She finds Satanists to be as much a trial to bear as Jesus finds Christians
* Sometimes, when no one is watching, She eats low-fat foods
I wrote this today. I feel so ashamed.
"Aiden's an exorcist; if people don't pay up their homes just get repossessed."
And done nano this year at exactly 70,000 words. The final lines are from a magazine interview between two of the characters.
D: "What I think is that everything is a risk and sometimes we have to take one, uncalculated, and that's all free will is."
PS: "Free will is falling in love?"
D: "Yeah. And falling so well that you try to never see the ground."
Fun thing to do working at a major computer company: Replace the word 'bug' with 'feature' in all releases.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
And the end....
Did they? Well, no. By that point I was too aware of stuff I'd be changing in the next draft and wanting to have this draft reflect that. Which is probably a sure route to madness, so I finished this draft as was and had fun with it. It did manage to surprise me in some small parts, a few of the people in it turning darker or tougher than I'd thought and I discovered the big change for the next draft is to shorten the timeline a lot. Aiden is an exorcist, and very good at that: this novel was him dealing with non-ghost stuff mostly and being out of his comfort and knowledge zone. As such, taking four days to figure out the major plot stuff going on made him seem drastically more incompetent, and possibly stupid.
Things I learned this year:
1) Plotting worked. Less plotting would have worked better. I write to find out what is going to happen as much as anything else and this draft left little room for me to be surprised which led to some sections being rather slow to write since I had, at least in point form plot notes, 'done' them already and the plot didn't deviate much from them.
Also, my collective nano wordcount for 8 years is now: 862,374 words. Daaaamn.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
A curious thing happened on the way to 50K....
Saner heads than mine prevailed in convincing me to keep going with Aiden's pov, if only because it was more challenging than changing it to Damien's. I saw the wisdom of that and moved forward again; despite that, by the 10th I was only at 37K and most of the days had been about 2K, though the tenth had been 4K. So this weekend I knuckled down and did 14K over two days, pushing me over the 50K mark. The plot developed a few twists, the characters surprised me a little and the story is flowing ahead again.
The trick for me at this stage is not thinking too much about the next draft: I already realize what I wrote as 5 days of plot should be condensed into 3 and a lot of the conversational stuff between the characters can probably be pared down to the grit of it in the next draft.
To whit:
* Cindi's vehicle needs to be more important, so the Beast must be getting repaired. (Damien repairing an RV should be fun.) She, a a character, needs to bring more to the story and demand more out of it. Someone has to get in his face and not know or care about his reputation in a very select circle of people: she is that person.
* The DEA agents need to show sooner and do a little more in the story.
* Shortening the time-frame allows for the characters to figure out who the magician is a lot sooner; the current timeline makes them look even more incompetent than I'd intended.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Thoughts on a few monkeys
To be honest, I really hate stories where a character behaves horribly and their sad childhood keeps getting brought up to somehow validate their bad behaviour
Because: hell, yes. I loathe this trope with a passion. Yes, horrible things happen to people. I get that. Everyone does. But not everyone who is abused goes on to abuse, not every person with a shitty childhood becomes a shitty parent. Choice is involved in who we decide to be and how we decide to react to the hand(s) life deals us. If you are an asshole, it is because you are an asshole.
In the case of nano, this is Aiden by and large. Yes, his parents did terrible things to him but he honestly doesn't see them like that: they're his parents and he loved them, as horrible as that can sometimes be. That his parents had motives that were on the side of 'good' doesn't change that at all: he was raised and taught to think in a very utilitarian manner and that his life was a worth sacrifice to stop Evil Things from happening. Others disagree with this (vehemently) and part of his growth as a character is when he decides to walk is own path as best he can.
He is a jerk, but that is by choice: it's how he dealt to lessons and his response to getting hurt by people and the word. Damien, on the other hand, tried to see every setback in life as an opportunity to grow. Not to forgive, no, but to try and forget a little and move on from things done to him. To an extent, they balance each other out and Vita threw them together partially in the hope they'd rub onto each other a little and become a little stronger in the process.
And since I plan this to be a series, it also means the reader gets to see Aiden become a bit more involved with people and the world, less of an exorcist and more of a human being. But at no point is the fact that his parents did a serious number on him during childhood going to be an excuse or actual explanation for his failures as a person.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Nano Day 7 .. an excerpt
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Old notebook oddity
- Necropuppet.
- Hitler Choose Your Own Adventure
... I think this means I should make sure I burn all my old notebooks before I die
Monday, October 31, 2011
Nanowrimo Synopsis
My name is Aiden Nel. If you're lucky you won't have heard of me. If you're not, you probably found my webpage and need an exorcist. Most people don't believe in ghosts, but I don't hold that against them: they're made to forget the wider world that lurks outside in the dark. I come in when too much happens for people to dismiss it, and they often pay me a nice sum to keep the dead quiet.
Sheffield Bay should have been just another routine call. The Klein family run the mill town and the owner's son was convinced he was hearing ghosts in their home: it should have been a quick exorcism. Easy in, easy out, payment strictly in cash. But there's a magician playing with terrible magics and an ancient spirit stalking the family to uphold a terrible pact lost to history. If they fall it could well cripple the entire town.
All I have on my side are a friend who is trying not to become a monster and a blogger who wants to write my life story. It may end sooner than she'd like.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Writing plot....
It should be interesting to see if this level of preparation helps or hinders the story but one can only learn by trying. And it had added a few characters to the story I didn't intend on, which IS fun. I know, somewhat, how it ends but have no clue about the denouncement parts at all yet. But hey, got a few days to work on it so it's all good.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
The evolution of a novel
Sunday, September 18, 2011
songs for exorcists
The series itself fits with Empire by Super8 & Tab.
Aiden is, for various reasons, Secret by Heart
while Damien, naturally is I Am (The Doppelganger's Song) by Seanan McGuire
Vita fits with Windmills of Your Mind.
I have nothing for other characters at present, and some -- okay, most -- of the songs are ones I come across while working on a novel and think they fit into it on some level, so I lob them into a playlist I often entirely forget about.
There are a few for Boy and Fox but listing those would constitute plot spoilers. Really.
All of which leads me to wonder ... do you have songs fitting your characters? Do you even bother to try? Or, like me, does it mostly happen by accident?
Thoughts on genre and writing
Boy and Fox, on the other hand, leads to 1K a day, at best. I have to remind myself to shift focus to the narrator, focus on the description and be vigilant on how things Mean Something in the story. It has a heavy icing of literary on it that I resisted in some drafts as cliche but am trying to work with again, largely by paring the setting down. It is very much outside my comfort-zone genre of 'urban weirdness' and as such comes much, much slower than other stories I do.
It is also the only story I've done where the alpha/beta readers of the Writing Group didn't see entire chapters of it because I'd decided they didn't fit the story any longer. I have about 4 versions of it, and have deleted more than I've ever kept, which is absurd even by my standards, and eventually the edit as I write and change future bits to fit that all came to the writing group having caught up with the story, which by then had lost focus and fallen apart.
The end result is to make me wonder how much harder it is for others to write outside their (sub)genre, both in terms of ideas and productivity.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Writing Snippet II
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Writing snippet of the day
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
On characters, some thoughts
I have found that I tend to approach characters from the central question of what lies they tell to themselves and to other people. The starting point, in my head, is where they are the most dishonest, how they fake honesty and so forth. We're different people depending on who we chat with and when, and why: in a lot of ways, we never let go of our masks, or we convince ourselves we do so well that said desire becomes a mask in and of itself. As an author, the fun part is finding the bits of myself in each character, and building -- or removing -- masks around that as the story and character dictate.
So I am looking at their masks, at the lives they choose to lead, the lives chosen for them and the costs (and sacrifices) of such things, sure in the knowledge that no one truly believes themselves the villain of their own story and wondering what would happen if someone did....
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Dear character,
I would like to inform you that this was entirely unexpected. While I had plans for you, finding out your skepticism has its roots in seriously twisted blackmail of your father while you were eight was never in any form of the plot at all. Your insistence on becoming important to the plot on some level and trying to upstage your older brother is rather worrying, given your original intent as foil by means of seeing an irrational universe as explicable via rational means.
While this may give you more layers and perhaps make you more interesting, it also means I have to re-think -- and probably re-write -- your previous scenes thanks to this. In the future, if you'd try and remain a minor character in a story with too many major characters already, I would greatly appreciate it.
It's either that or I kill you messily.
Thank you,
Josh.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
This may happen....
The plot at present involves an artificial life form created to record this civilization for those that come after it and two census takers trying to catalogue people in the dregs of the city. Weirdly, the main characters also map onto the wizard of oz rather well in some respects, something I plan to make more of just for the sheer fun of it.
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Update for BOGF
On the plus side, the story feels pretty solid so far. I have to alter some background details like character's ages and need to figure out what is really bugging one of the MCs, as if had become more relevant than expected and two of the MCs have shown surprising streaks of pure nastiness that is quite interesting.
Friday, September 02, 2011
September Writing
The end result has been pretty fun and odd so far, so I'll see where it goes.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Found this morning while link surfing
- Diane Arbus (American Photographer)
Sunday, August 21, 2011
facebook status updates: part V (Now including google+)
"What if there really IS a clue at the bottom of the bottle?" The Detective stared down into the glass. "How will I ever attempt to be sober after that?"
I have learned that the phrase 'shamanic elder porpoises' is funny in almost any context. (The context I used was crossing the origins of Tarzan with Aquaman)
Plot for a murder mystery: a serial killer who only targets people's pets. (The hate mail you'd get would be epic.)
There were many reasons to make Pacts with Beings from beyond time and space: Joe had wanted to be able to enter bars at the age of 16 and not be carded.
Every arthritic step is now a kind of victory.
A short story: Nothing happened. They lived quiet lives, and then they died. Like all tales never told, devoid of war and death and pathos, it was the only one truly worth telling.
I smile at her, or at least pretend to. "The truth always hurts. Otherwise it would be a lie."
"All true kings abdicate that throne, be it pop or or rock," he told the reporter, and his smile contained echoes of one of his oldest songs. "Otherwise we'd become gods, and why would anyone want to do that?"
"The rapture did happen in 1994." The old man smiled sadly. "I think 3 rather shocked cats were taken, and a lot of dogs. Strange the world hasn't changed much, isn't it?"
When the Messiah decided to form his own country-western band, the Church knew it was time to send out the death squad and start over. Again.
"Saying science hasn't figured everything out is fine and true as far as it goes, but it doesn't mean you get to fill in the gaps with whatever crap you want to," James said.
Fun bit from writing yesterday:
"I am rather good in sports, but that is just the luck of genetics more than real skill. Talent is often merely a defect of character, after all."
"Do you know what reincarnation MEANS?" He smiled, thin as a knife, eyes bright and dark. "It means this life doesn't matter. We have another, and another, and each time we move closer to our perfect life. I am killing them to help them. We all come back, all of us."
"The power in a relationship belongs to whoever cares the least. There is always going to be imbalance, one person who needs it more than the other, and thus is at the mercy of the other person. I considered it a kindness to break up now rather that hurt her further later."
Thought for the morning: is the book of revelation fanservice?
Her laugh was gentle, mocking. "I have given you all you ever wanted, old friend, old enemy. I have damned you with happiness, that you may see how empty it is." And then she bowed and vanished, leaving behind a world too perfect to be borne.
Like most serial killers, he started small. Not wanting to harm animals, he began unfriending people on facebook instead.
After the edict abolishing liars was passed, we hunted down the priests and their gods.
No one really knew what to make of the cat with the halo. The dogs laughed and laughed while the mice were outraged and demanded the cat be branded a heretic. Because mice remember what we forget.
Every time she told them she wrote fish porn, they asked if she had clammy fingers. Every. Single. Time. So no one was really surprised when she decided to filet them.
"What happpens," she pressed, "if we love ourselves too much? If it hurts too much to stop? What then?"
"Talkshows."
"And now, O Warrior of Light, having vanquished you I shall ... destroy the world!"
".... you will? Really?"
"I was not boasting, child of earth. I am the Lord of the Dark Realms and I have sworn that this world shall be no more!"
"Yes, yes, but then where will you go?"
"Wait, wait, wait: hellhounds exist and I brought one to the apartment?"
"Yes. It's mostly Bouvier. And," Jack added, raising a finger, "there is no need to shout."
"I'm not shouting."
"Really? You could have fooled me"
Rover looked up warily from the doorway, tail between his legs. The hellhound had yet to pee on the carpet from fear and I tried to take some deep, calming breaths that managed to be anything but calm. Jack didn't help by asking if we'd need to call in an exorcist if the dog crapped on the floor
Security questions on websites are so mundane. 'Favourite pet', 'Mother's maiden name' and such. (What if you never had a pet or you mom didn't have a maiden name?)
They should get creative. Like, 'Person who you most want to see on a Reality TV show in Rwanda' or 'Celebrity I want to see working at McDonalds'.
Monday's aren't bad for Garfield now, since the prozac was added to his food. John realized it was cheaper than all that lasagna.
Story Seed: Believing a house is haunted can knock up to a third from its price; so faking a haunting in a home is a great way to buy it at a reduced rate.
I stared down at the puppy and then up at Jack. "His name is Rover," I offered.
"Of course it is. You've never brought a found animal home before, though."
"The house he came from is gone. Burned right down past the foundations. For all I know the police would have blamed me."
"Ah." The boy raised a single eyebrow. "Did you do it?"
"What, burn a house down so I didn't have to return a found puppy?" I paused a beat. "I do it about once a week. Depends on the puppy."
It wasn't reading other people's minds that disturbed him. It was that he only ever did it during sex. No one ever told him, after, that they did as well, but he always wondered ...
"I wasn't joking. Witches exist, I hunt them down for a living."
He said nothing else as he picked up his drink again almost hesitantly.
"So one hurt you?" I tried.
"One of them cooked and ate my sister. I killed her, and later others because I found I was good at it. But at some point any calling, no matter how pure or noble, becomes a job if you do it long enough."
I am not near awake enough to check email and be informed that I have two days left before an exlusive offer of 500 'Rakuten Super Points' expires. Without bothering to trouble google over it, I figured best buy must be offering to make me into a japanese anime character.
Now to shout "Rakuten!" at work and see what it does....
the closet opened and Oprah stood on the other side, in full child-monster mode and offered me a free car.
"It's an import," she whispered and smiled, and each of her teeth contained a small Michael Moore screaming soundlessly.
.... and that is what my brain decided the MC of the august campnanowrimo had as part of a dream.
What google searches do you use to see if the government has put spyware on your computer?
Oddest thing in the nano thus far: a serial kidnapper.
"Of course I'm the good witch," she said, shocked. "Who else would offer magic enough to mend a heart?"
"Happy people never do anything important, Dad." Charlotte snapped. "Only unhappy people want change and are willing to do something to get it."
"I've killed a lot of witches and other people. Daniel. Some people think it makes me a monster, that I somehow never feel anything anymore."
"Killing doesn't make you a monster?"
"No. Being a monster does."
"We do take all kinds," the agent said. "But your resume ..."
"I introduced fire to man," the titan said.
"Mmm, quite: but not much work since then. The whole eagle and liver bit was good reality tv, but ratings declined sharply over the years."
"I am Prometheus. I lit the first phoenix, defied Olympus ...!"
"Yes, yes. Have you considered a career in stand-up?"
From WIP:
Charlotte cried softly during the night; I pretended not to hear her. Sometimes silence is all a parent can offer.
The children were surprised when they exited the wardrobe to find the camera crew waiting for them.
"Welcome to Survivor: Narnia," Jeff Probst said with a smile, his hair flowing back behind him like a mane.
Glorious Failure
Some parts works, I have some good lines for the next draft and I know what won't work at all. Which isn't at all bad for 50K in 19 days, especially when I set out to write it knowing that this draft might well fall apart as I tried to merge ideas together. I am pretty certain the next draft of Found is going to have Boy & Fox as not remotely part of it and will also see the Jack/Witches subplots get expunged as well, which is a bit of a pity as Jack is horribly fun to write.
But ultimately the more supernatural elements the story gets, the more it seems to cease working. So the next draft, when I write it, will be a very different beast indeed.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Transmissions
I used to show people my scars.
Then they put me under
fluorescent lighting and scalpels.
They did things in the light
no one would dream of doing in the dark.
Now I have nothing to show
when people ask me if I’m unique.
I try to tell them that I
am controlled by radio waves.
They tell me that everyone is
then giggle and titter to each other.
I tell them that I think
my father was an alien.
They become pseudointellectual
and pontificate about immigration acts.
No one understands
that I am being literal.
When I try to make them
they just quote from the X-Files.
If the truth is out there
Why do I have no scars to prove it?
Monday, August 08, 2011
8 days into camp....
Monday, August 01, 2011
Fun absurdity....
"I've been told I'm here to save the world
But yet I fear that I've been hurled
Into some strange game never knowing why.
So much is changing (I know the world may die).
I know that I have a prayer but no one ever answers.
Am I pawn or player, before the dance was there a dancer?
I'm doing everything I can to bring about his fall
But it feels like nothing I do can ever matter at all.
He's the one and future king and his heart is bitter gall.
And I have nothing left inside, nothing to call.
I feel so lost but I've been told that I can win
At what cost: everything I am, everything I've been?
It could all be gone maybe that reason enough to try
The sun at dawn reason enough to make reply
I don't know if I'm worthy (maybe I will when the battle's won)
And sometimes I'm filled with worry though it only has begun
I'm doing everything I can to bring about his fall
But it feels like nothing I do can ever matter at all.
He's the one and future king and his heart is bitter gall.
And I have nothing left inside, nothing to call.
I don't know if I'm worth this power I don't understand
It's been mine from birth and this was all planned
Long before I was born it was written in the stars
I'll come again ,be reborn, yet never lose my scars
I don't know if I can bear all these sacrifices for me:
Dead ghosts are staring and we pay prices to be free.
.... I cannot very well use int in Found, but it was odd to find again.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Huh ...
Vasili Arkhipov amd Stanislav Petrov (the latter of whom I knew of before tonight) are both credited with saving the world from nuclear war. (The former during '62, the latter during the 80s over a missile warning 'glitch'.) Who would be their American counterparts, if any?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
For a novel
That's all you're good for, all you are
Cracks in the world, wholeness in me
Sunlight dancing on a frozen sea
What is it good for, failing so far:
all you can do is break the world.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The Perfect Angel
eyes wide and wounded with silent scars.
Angels formed in the snow, crude and misbegotten.
Her eyes burning she turned away
in a silent pain too deep for words
and blinked fiercely in denial
of denial and it seemed that the stars
blinked back, and laughed.
So she forgot, and people can forget:
that is Heaven.
She made one last angel in the pristine snow
because she could
and had nowhere to go.
They found her cold and smiling
and knew that she was gone.
They carried her home in silence
not knowing what she’d done.
They tramped over the perfect angel
that then melted in the sun.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Working on a novella
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Stories
you said, soft, watching skies.
I waited, drawing words from you
with silence.
Follow any story long enough
and it's just a tragedy.
"Like heroes?" I ask, though
I am never sure I speak.
When our stories end, prayers begin.
We plead for exemption, from death.
I would have a story rather
than live forever, you added.
I listened to your voice, felt
the silence fill the emptiness
as if that was all we ever do.
Monday, July 04, 2011
Silent
with life's decay; pockets free of holes,
empty of tools. The deaf man
carried no paper, no pen, no pad
into the world of open-mouthed silence.
He knows their language but so few,
know his, not even the insults.
When he needs them, they appear
at a gesture, another magic of
a foreign world. Shabby but
sometimes a miracle, signs
like small gifts, offerings he takes
as hope for the world, swallowed
with a kind of nameless sadness.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
This is Untitled
everything I offer you already have.
Our meshing a tangle of needs and wine.
Outside, rain sluices down windows
drops meet, merge, slow, but
they all seem to fall alone.
Inside we are too warm, our words
hot and heavy and I think of the desert:
to move, make such wondrous noises, but
not to change.
In cool sweat and tangled sheets
the rain loud over our breath, we find
smiles, yes, but no words to share,
not one.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Why?
Seance a lonely whisper in the dark --
Why?
Before stark truth, a metal table and a white sheet,
Raw words from numb lips --
“Why?”
Laughters slips, harsh and unrestrained,
Men in uniforms, silent, might wonder:
Why?
Amateur mourners say false sympathies
Eyes righteous, accusing the unvoiced:
Why?
Why did we let you die, not stop you,
You hid beind a smile, never telling why
You died.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Love and the Sea
I whispered softly to you
I held your hand and traced our names in sand
And said I’d always be true
But the water came and washed it away, I guess it’s the same
For love. And a harsh wind blew
Across the land, crashing windows: someone said I should know
Omens when I see them true.
But I had so much to give I still thought that was love
I still thought you were there for me
I thought we were inseparable but everything is permeable
All we had was each other, if only
If only it had been enough. O what was our crime what was our sin?
We let love in and I don’t see
What we did that was so wrong but someone told me I should know
We never took the time to be.
Someone told me things aren’t fixed by songs -- broken wings
Might never mend again
Somehow we just go on and maybe one day the hurt will be gone
So we learn to never complain
Yet it’s a miracle we’re told since we loved at all but it’s hard to see
And harder to sustain
But we were sold on it even if it was a lie, even if we feel too old
So I’m trying for love again
And this time it’s not first love and maybe never can be true love
You say you love me, I say “We’ll see”
And there’s hurt in your eyes but I won’t offer up lies
And often I walk alone down by the sea
And I remember other lovers, how cold it is in December
And wonder why love and I always disagree
But here I am again, opening up my heart again to let it sing
“Maybe this time we will be. Maybe this time we will be
What wound ever healed but by degrees?”
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The fun of resurrection
Why do characters who end up in Fantasy World stay?
Not everyone would want to, or should, but I thought it would be focus on a character whose only goal is to get back home because of mundane issues like the new car getting towed, work, rent and so forth. As such I am entirely re-doing the novel from scratch and altering a lot of character roles. Or shall, in time; I'm doing up notes at present so things are more solidified in my head when I start out.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Life In The Big City
And anyone that I know;
Said nothing held me there
Oh, if only that was so.
I know I said I’d never leave
But it was just too hard to believe
I know you’ll think that I lied
But my love I swear I tried.
I’ve been walking down lonely roads
Just going with the flow
I sometimes wish you were here with me
But it was too long ago.
I wouldn’t know you if we met anymore
I burned my bridges and I closed my doors
This is truly what I do believe
Though sometimes I still grieve.
Having sex with strangers
That I will never know
They keep saying “Do you love me?”
And I keep wanting to say no.
I know I said I’d never leave
But it was just too hard to believe
I know you’ll think that I lied
But my love I swear I tried.
Some days I think of you still
And wonder how I fell so low
Sometimes I wish I could see you
But there’s nothing I’d want to show.
I wouldn’t know you if we met anymore
I burned my bridges and I closed my doors
This is truly what I do believe
Though sometimes I still grieve.
I sometimes think we’ll meet again
And our eyes shall catch and glow
Or we might pass by as strangers do
And maybe just say hello.
I know I said I’d never leave
But it was just too hard to believe
I know you’ll think that I lied
But I swear I tried, I swear I tried.
Maybe we could just say hello.
Maybe we could say hello.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Sometimes I dream the world is good
And I know I know that you do too
A place where everything turns out okay
And love can always be true
And it’s a world I’ve never lived in
And I know I know it’s one I want to see
And I don’t know what I’d give up
For such a world to be
And I’m thinking too maybe you don’t know
And I wonder I wonder if anyone does
Or if we just keep on going around
But I sure hope not because
I have seen this world that never was
I wonder I wonder and hope you have too
And I hope you’ll come along with me
And somehow make it true
A world’s out there waiting to begin
And I wonder I do what it will be
I know you must too I see it in your eyes
‘Cuz together maybe we can
And together maybe we will
Thursday, May 05, 2011
The Daffodils, or, It's raning and my allergies are acting up.
I meandered pretty as a cloud
Singing while high o'er home and hills,
Drugs ran out and I heard the sound
A host of falling coloured pills
Beside the lake, I let out a sneeze
And they danced away on the breeze
No longer happy and not fine
Thinking of semen as the milky way
I saw my home and a light shone
I saw where Sam had been today
Ten thousand sins seen at a glance
Tossing their heads in a sprightly dance.
I screamed in fucking agony; they
Just pointed and waved with glee
A poet could not but be gay,
I loved my wife's company
I gazed -- all glazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
Remembering mother strange moods
That make black unpon the inward eye
And make me want to say things rude
I remember the axe, and pleasure fills
My heart, dancing with blue pills.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Spare Change
begs a hand thrust
out of tattered rags.
Most of us
have no change to spare;
Most of us
never change at all.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Rain
my cat died
Mummy told me
"The rain
Is God
Crying with you."
I asked what God
Up in Heaven
Could ever have
To cry about.
That night, my bum sore
from the spanking, I wondered
If God hated people
Living in deserts
Because
It never rained in them.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Friday, April 08, 2011
facebook status updates: part IV
You are now infected with sentient lice. They will eventually try to establish communication... unless, of course, you've been trying to exterminate them. In that case, they'll be very unhappy with you.
"I don’t get this whole destiny thing. Aren’t you already doing whatever it is you’re going to do?”
“There are many forms of currency in this world,” Ril said softly. “You and I both know that the only one that matters is secrets. ”
Mind you, most things mentioining Anne Coulter sear themselves into the brain much like cthulhu would. - Moi.
Silence, Del had found, was the most cunning of traps. People felt compelled to fill it.
From a current WIP: And sometimes, if you say you'll pay anything, the price is everything.
You begin to urinate shredded White House documents for the next 10 hours, and the page they form tells you who will really kill you tomorrow.
How to tell your kids there is no Santa: "We're not getting you any gifts this year because Santa will bring them."
And come christmas morning: "Well, it seems the recession hit St. Nick hard, too. But we still got you each a satsuma!"
Signs you are writing a very screwed-up story: It includes references to zombie fetish films. In this case, one made for zombies by zombies and involving humans eating zombies.
For the past week, you have been getting text messages on your phone, dated noon tomorrow.
"Sorry," from a blocked ID, and nothing else.
The messages are coming less frequently now.
this is a fun story line out of context: "Ant farms aren't vampires, least not any one I've ever seen."
What ISN'T the world's second-oldest profession?
Telemarketer for scotiabank: "Hello, I am looking for Josh MacLeod."
Me: "No, you're not. Because he's getting sick of these calls and will switch banks if they continue."
*click*
Weirdest line written thus far this week in WIP:
"What is decency, if not stigmata?"
This is the postscript of a letter I sent to my grandmother 5 years ago.
PS - I just discovered that spiritual councillors who speak to the dying are paid by the hour. It created an interesting mental image of “die slower, I need to pay my rent!”
The grass won't be greener on the other side after you apply the lighter fluid.
Vampires who sparkle in sunlight should convert to Islam so they can hide behind the burka. Discuss.
"You killed God," the Devil said, and She looked disappointed. "I had a round of golf booked with Him this weekend; now what am I going to do?"
"Would someone care to explain," the Detective said slowly, "why anyone thought the king's horses could put an *egg* back together again? Look at what their hooves have done to the shell!"
This was turning out to be a bad day for the Detective. No less than four calls in the last hour from people claiming they had lost an hour of the day, and demanding someone catch the thief who stole it.
Only two of them had been joking.
"No," the Detective said, his voice cold and quiet and breaking through the shouting of victims and suspects and the killer.
"What?" The killer said. "No? No to what?"
"I am not telling the mayor the butler did it." The Detective raised his gun. "We need a better killer than that."
"Commissioner, you asked me to solve the case of reality." The Detective paused. "The solution is 42."
"That is amusing," the Commissioner said, his voice devoid of a smile. "You're fired."
"But .... I wasn't joking. It really is 42. Why won't anyone listen to me?"
"Of course I arrested the suspect," the Detective said to Internal Affairs.
"For someone to be a suspect, you have to charge them with with a crime. Not march into their office and arrest them!"
"I knew he was guilty of something; he's a senator."
There is one conspiracy so great is can bring down the moon, so brilliant it burns even the worthy as it makes them pure, and so terrible that darkness quells from it and sorrow seems, at times, its mate. This conspiracy is called love.
Things that would be fun: answering the phone as though you were a help desk.
"Yes, your honour, I was drunk when I was pulled over," The Detective said. "Drunk on clues."
"Oh yeah?" she said. "So I'm like that, am I? Well, how many horsemen of the apocalypse have *you* slept with, mister?"
The Detective laughed unkindly. "I hate to disappoint you, but this is not a locked room mystery: I placed a cat in the room four hours before the disappearance of Ms. Dunway in this same room so it is now a schrodinger's cat room, and neither locked nor unlocked."
The Detective has been fired for many reasons, over the course of his career. Concerned pet owners over his use of Schrodinger's Cat was, however, a new one.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Freewrite on the subject of losing things
Most people don’t have extra souls. He didn’t. And she came back, from the White City to the world, from death into life, as if it was a matter of bureaucracy as much as will, destiny as much as chance. He smiled — he could fake that, at least — and she laughed, and kissed him, and talked.
When she left, two months later, only she was surprised. He wasn’t surprised by anything anymore. he let her go, despite her pleading for him to change, trying to move him with words, and love, and human things. He just waited, watched her go, and made himself a sandwich.
They never talked about his lost soul, not then or ever.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Insanity, thy name is WIP....
I think this means I need help.
(But, on the plus side, I did resist the urge to write up said book idea entirely. Which is probably for the best.)
"Huh." Clay flipped the page. "I do not like deep waters and Dagon?"
"It is not a mistype," Uniq said. "Would you like them there or there," is not one either, since that is a picture of Carcosa. I believe the good doctor used Disneyland as a reference point for drawing it."
Sunday, February 13, 2011
sort of an update
<alcar> I is writing. Just began chapter 7, Parents Don't Exorcise Jell-O.
<Chaos`^> what?
<Chaos`^> you write the weirdest damn stories...
<Chaos`^> can't you write something while NOT on acid?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Progression of works
This makes about as much sense to me as it probably does to you.