Rice Paddywhack

I find myself wondering why I felt the need to move so far away from my family, particularly now that I am going to visit next week, and for such a short time, and then I have no idea when I'll see them again, as it costs bundles to fly from one end of the country to the other, and I don't have bundles.

I am posting this here, because it seems when I post things on my other journal about being lonely or upset for one reason or another, there is always someone who writes back that I ought to be more proactive about it, that it is my fault in some way (and maybe it is, but man that's not what I need to hear). Starting over is hard though, and while I knew partially that it would be, the reality of it is that I had no idea what I was in for. I know this is a passing mood, and that I'll be fine and ready to go at my goals again soon, but for now I'm a little ball of sad.

anyway, just rambling. if I don't get into school for next year, I really don't know what I'll do. I came out here to start my life, and grad school is a BIG part of that life that I want.

I am on crack. My back aches from sitting slouched in front of my computer. I am poisoning myself with coffee. My fingers don't want to cooperate with my brain anymore. I don't feel like I'm cut out for this fiction thing, but I stupidly refuse not to try. It's like chasing the perpetual hanging carrot.

Two stories that I have NO clue where to go with. If I do Nano next year (unlikely if I get into MFA program), I am coming in with an outlined plot that I've worked on for months ahead of time. I just can't make my brain come up with things off the cuff. It craves complicated plot, and it craves many hours sitting in front of the same five pages for days at a time, and it just isn't possible for me in such a short time.

The only way I can salvage this is to roll these two stories up into a third that I've been contemplating. I was gonna wait til after Nano to start it, but this is an emergency, and the situation is startlingly similar to my own.

And damn it, because I keep taunting readers with half-finished plots, this one nobody's reading until it's DONE, dammit. Enough of this shit.

*self-flagellating in the corner*

Hi, I deleted my Craftmanship entries because I really like the characters and may someday want to make a real novel out of it.

So, copyright/publication rights prohibit me from posting any more of it.

If you would like to read from here on out, please let me know and I can email it to you.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

annoyed author from the age of complete idiocy

Today I decided not to let the man get me down. Writing is supposed to be torturous, but it is also supposed to be fun.

I dug out my book-mentor today, Jasper Fforde and his book, The Well of Lost Plots. If any of you Nanoers have not yet picked up a copy of this, I suggest you do. Post haste. What Jasper does is point out, in hysterical phraseology, that all the agony we writers go through is a bit ridiculous, and that it doesn't even help in the long run. The best thing to do is...exactly what you want. How you please. Whatever. Wheaties.

So we are going to have fun tonight. I rename my Nano "Fever Dreams: A Novel Experiment," which is what it is essentially.

I was seven chapters in when it all came grinding to a halt. Two genres I had sworn never to write had swashbuckled my novel--horror and romance. They went absurdly well together, like Beauty and the Beast.

I was beginning to enjoy being Judas--traitors are rarely boring. I considered myself on vacation, and blithely stepped int a new, even zanier world--the Navy, through the eyes of an asexual, bipolar skydiver. I could have tried a bisexual, apolar dieskyver, but I don't think it would be as interesting. Also, I would have to define dieskyver.

National Novel Writers' Morgue--where bad stories come to rest and be examined, cleaned up, and gutted for healthy plot organs.

I leave you among the corpses while I go off in search of fictional alcoholic beverages.

I'm going to write a little more tonight, but I don't think I'll post it. I managed to write chapter 6 and a bit of 7 (I apologize in advance for starting to write like a bad horror novelist, but hey, I'm going for quantity now, quality later), so the weekend hasn't been a total loss, but all in all I'm disappointed with my progress. I had set a goal of making it to at 25k, but I guess that was way too ambitious. In my defense, I had a rather nasty shock yesterday morning, which may prove disastrous if I can't iron it out tomorrow. I say that is what killed yesterday's word count. Today was just my own laziness.

( chp 6 and part of 7 )

I realized I was stuck because my brain was rebelling against some inconsistencies in the plot. So because I am a teeny bit ahead, I took the time to fix them, and BAM, no more blockage. Plus, I did the Tunnel tour today so I can now write the tunnel chapter/chapters. Okay, on with the show.

( 4&5 )

well, I'm a little stuck plotwise right now, and dead tired. I only wrote about 2500 words today, which is 800 less than I did the first two days. Hopefully I can make it up tomorrow. I'm at 10037 total at the moment. Anyway here is the rest of chapter 4, and a wee bit of 5, but the rest of what I wrote today is just bits and pieces out of order, which I'm not posting here.


( recap, rest of chapter 4 and a bit of 5 )

I am revved up! I'm on word 7512, which is right on track (I'm attempting to do 100,000 so that in the end I can feel ok about dumping 50,000 words when I edit, LOL).

One of my characters is missing, one is writing a play, the pirate ship is in place, there's palpable sexual tension, people are having their fortunes told and giving lap dances...my characters are clearly having the time of their lives!

My goal for this weekend is 12,000 words. That's 4,000/day. Not much more than I write during the week, but I'm doing the Shanghai Tunnel ghost tour tomorrow so I don't want to feel guilty if I don't write more than that.

How's everybody doing?

Keeping up the pace so far.

( Chapters 3 & part of 4 )

Well, here is my first two chapters. I think I did well today. 3802 words.


( Chapters 1 & 2 )

aha. off to a wonderful start. NOT.

I had intended to take a quick nap last night at 9pm and get up at midnight to write. Nope. Slept through that. Intended to get up at 5am. But I was having an amazing dream about Dean and didn't want to risk losing it. See, he, Sam, and I were off doing something, not sure but it involved a car. Dean and Sam were arguing about something, and then suddenly all 3 of us were sitting in this room around a table with the people from Navy:NCIS. Dean was looking rough--we must have been in a fight, because he was all bruised around the eye and face. He hadn't shaved because it was too painful, and he had this major shadow goin' on. *grin* Very cute. Sam was just sitting there laughing at him because Dean didn't want to share any information with the NCIS people, but we had to.

Anyway, this means that I have a LOT of writing to do when I get home today. Going to also try to do some at lunch.

I have made 3 tiered goals here.

1. Nanowrimo: 50,000 words. This is the bare bones. 1,667 words/day, or about 7 pages.

2. Book length: 100,000 words. This is my ideal length. It's about 3,333 words/day, about 11 pages.

3. The Limit: 150,000 words. 5,000 words/day, 16.4 pages. I doubt I could achieve much more than this without going insane (I don't understand the people gunning for 1,000,000 words in 30 days--bums don't work!!)

I'm really anxious to begin tonight, but I'm already tired and it's 7 already. Maybe I'll lie down for awhile and hope I don't fall asleep with my laundry in the dryer. I am also debating whether I should start tonight or not. I don't want to start off tomorrow exhausted from being up too late.

Op-Ed Contributor
Ghosts in the Machines
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By NEIL GAIMAN
Published: October 31, 2006
WE are gathered here at the final end of what Bradbury called the October Country: a state of mind as much as it is a time. All the harvests are in, the frost is on the ground, there’s mist in the crisp night air and it’s time to tell ghost stories.
( the rest of the story )

occasionally, I find myself wishing I could reboot my brain, or perhaps have amnesia for awhile. one of those weird, sci-fi things like Total Recall. I'd like to see what I would write about, what the theme would be, if I started fresh. I could try to do it from my current headspace, but I doubt I could psyche myself into believing it, and thus doubt any readers I might have would believe it either.

I've been thinking lately

of clocks, they all have names, living breathing time, clocks we look up to like gods, always there, always moving even when they've stopped. time is circular, different hours have a flavor

but I'm not going on vacation remember
a vacation from me

snip the conversation short so you don't know who's talking

1.
we pick a fine scotch together,
because drinking peat is always a good idea.
Moving to my train
I hear life, whirring in the background

2.
The world is safe for spying
Can you see
--What eyes? (you say)
Spy, I suppose, means save and lock under
Hold your clothes together, I say, disgusted.
You tell scotch tape to work
because your buttons won't close anymore

I run and hold the track with my feet
You are behind me on my run,
complaining
--What, no more scotch? (you say)
You can’t like track--it's against your ideology.
Tracking you afterwards,
you lock on my eyes
you see it--I know.
can I lock you down?

3.
I see you there, under a spy
I’m thinking, tell me afterwards
what clothes you wore.
See life recording--
lock it up
Before I can see it.
--What clothes? (you say)
how like a fledgling liar.
can life tell what I’m seeing
can you
I’m running I can’t

4.
my eyes are a train track
let's tell my spy together
tell how, on much scotch, I’m like clothes
--Empty--
I’m with you, about the moving train
The life tape I see recording
I hold here, and
I’m all scotch afterwards.

(oh you are so blind)

You can’t see with my eyes
think, spy
Life tapes our eyes together,
can't look away
but can't see anything
you were moving life forwards
and the afterwards
was us together (or ought to be)
--about that tape…(you say)
it can’t, can it?
life means moving
but what life
is worth this?
don’t tell--
What my can can’t, don’t suppose
You can

5.
there's a train!
It eyes my scotch
Save the record of that
together
your eyes tell it,
tell lies about it.
together
let’s tell it together,
Save moving
See life jump the train
Lock my track or I'll jump too--
Save moving--
(oh you are so blind)

6.
Here’s To Tracking Life Like Scotch
See spy, I can’t hear you
Spy, I track you, run you down:
Can you hear life thinking about it?
whirring about the track
jump, of course, means afterwards.
all I can see is
you under the train--

afterwards, there's the jump record,
I run all transmitters--
recording You, recording You
what to think on scotch afterwards
much held, I held you
we jump much track together, locked together,
held eyes
I held my eyes under you
A tape I can see to
held behind life
while you Held life
Run tape, all I can see
I’m recording
as you run behind, ever behind
Tell me I can’t
Tell all,
much held behind my eyes

7.
All life means exactly clothes
pick a life,
Jump it run it
Tell my love what life means
What it means--
Lock it track it
I run whirring
run
run the tape
recording You,
you, all whirring, held my eyes

1.
My afterwords are afterwards
You’re not supposed to see the record
But what you hear you like
You hear see all--perverted
I’m about to see moving record, living breathing

You pick a train
tracking my tracking you
But you can’t track my train
It runs on life
My my my, do tell
we pick a fine scotch together--
because drinking peat is always a good idea--
Moving to my train
I hear life, whirring in the background

2.
The world is safe for spying
Can you see
My eyes save you
--What eyes? (you say)
Spy, I suppose, means save and lock under
Hold your clothes together, I say, disgusted.
You tell scotch tape to work
because your buttons won't close anymore

I run and hold the track with my feet
You are behind me on my run,
complaining
--What, no more scotch? (you say)
You can’t like track--it's against your ideology.
Tracking you afterwards,
you lock on my eyes
you see it--I know.
can I lock you down?

3.
I see you there, under a spy
I’m thinking, tell me afterwards
what clothes you wore.
See life recording--
lock it up
Before I can see it.
--What clothes? (you say)
how like a fledgling liar.
can life tell what I’m seeing
can you
I’m running I can’t

4.
my eyes are a train track
let's tell my spy together
tell how, on much scotch, I’m like clothes
--Empty--
I’m with you, about the moving train
The life tape I see recording
I hold here, and
I’m all scotch afterwards.

(oh you are so blind)

You can’t see with my eyes
think, spy
Life tapes our eyes together,
can't look away
but can't see anything either
you were moving life forwards
and the afterwards
was us together (or ought to be)
--about that tape…(you say)
it can’t, can it?
life means moving
but what life, my spy
is worth this?
don’t tell--
What my can can’t, don’t suppose
You can

5.
there's a train!
It eyes my scotch
Save the record of that
But about the supposed train--
you spy, I on you
together together
can scotch see it all?
your eyes tell it,
tell lies about it.
let’s tell it together,
Save moving
See life jump the train
Lock my track or I'll jump too--
Save moving--
(oh you are so blind)

6.
My think is scotch
See spy, I can’t hear you
Spy, I track you, run you down:
Here’s To Tracking Life Like Scotch
Can you hear life thinking about it?
whirring about the track
jump, of course, means afterwards.
all I can see is
you under the train--

afterwards, there's the jump record,
I run all transmitters--
recording You, recording You
what to think on scotch afterwards
much held, I held you
we jump much track together, locked together,
held eyes
I held my eyes under you
A tape I can see to--
held behind life, life lock
while you Held life, hear life-
Run tape, all I can see
I’m recording
as you run behind, ever behind
Tell me I can’t
Tell all,
much held behind my eyes

7.
All life means exactly clothes
pick a life,
Jump it run it
Tell my fledgling love what life means
What it means--
Lock it track it
I run whirring
run
run the tape
recording You,
you, all whirring, held my eyes

For my general edification (and your amusement), I had my Nano characters drop by for a roundtable, get-to-know-you session...also to see if I could swing the 1667 word count in an hour. I found out many things, not the least of which is that I can, in fact, swing the word count, as long as I don't edit. In fact, the word count here is 1823. *congratulates self*

You'll have to excuse them. They're sequestered at the moment and a bit cranky. And horny.

*NOTE* None of this is going into the actual Nano. That would be cheating. This is prewriting to help me get to know my characters and general plot before November 1st, so I'm not just drooling on my keyboard. On to the general mayhem. Enjoy!

( Meet the Displacement Parade )

( goodly bits of wisdom )

I need to keep this in mind: I WILL NOT EDIT, DAMMIT!!!!!!!!

no no no, no editing. *slaps hand*

This is the one stumbling block I've never been able to get around, as a writer. That is why I want to do Nano in the first place--to see if I can use it to break my goddamn inability to just...let...go. "I can fix it later" is a GREAT motto! I need to start chanting that, or perhaps tape myself saying it and then play it back under my pillow at night...hmmm..

( I'm not sure if this is just rambling, or whether there are flashes of something good here. in any case, it needs to be about 3 pages shorter than it is. read if you dare... )

announcements medieval

I have the black plague
Thoughts drift in and out, ghost sailors
Amidships, there’s a crack
Sea spawn opens to buoys, boys
Clamber where men dare not go--
Too big for their shoes.
Answering questions asked before
I was born, misty opening over X

The black plague has me
Webbed into a corner
With sticky hands, cottonmouth
And a silk dress
I move like butter through time.
I’m melting, witch
Which proves I am one
Conjuring the waves to swallow
Them, hapless drawn to me

Black me has the plague,
Plague me black plague me back
Back to the plague
Years, when the whole house died
They all touched the door,
The hearth
Heart of home, poison Rx
X’s for eyes
Cross my heart, arms tired,
Tied down and sightless

Plague years have me near
Me don’t come near me
Boutonnières
Refrigerated
Gales of a glee-time, sea-rhyme
Me time
Rolling thunder Roman candles
Gods and battles
Doorknob rattles
It’s you, like a fax machine
Announcing your presence,
Cover sheet shroud over your face,
You died of the plague
I have, I gave you
Flowers on your face, in the cracks,
Growing out of your cold stone face.
In your face, I am in your face,
I hide my face to save face.
Don’t give me that face, I don’t
Want it.

I have the black plague,
The black plague has me.
It’s all that I have and it keeps me
To myself.