ME: (Strikes muscle pose): Sixty thousand words!
LYN: How many Nano?
ME: Forty five thousand, eight hundred.
LYN: You’re ahead of me again. It’s so hard to go back and write filler. You’re going to win.
ME: Well, you’re winning the race that actually matters.
LYN: What do you mean?
ME: One novel beats one bit of a novel.
LYN: Well, yeah…
PS: Apocalypso in my pants. Sob….
Over at ASiF, they’ve published another very positive review of The Beast Within. I’ve yet to see a negative review of this anthology, and if you’re at all a fan of the big three (Werewolves, Vampires, Frankensteinian monsters) you really want to add this to your bookshelf.
Were-frogs, people. It has were-frogs.
PS: Face The Face in my pants. Stop it, just fucking stop it…..
The Corpse-Rat King passed the 60 000 word mark tonight. This is a substantial mark for me: Napoleone’s Land ran its course in 78 000 words, (Yes, actually, I still have to do those rewrites and get back to the agent I’ve been avoiding admitting my lack of working on the damn thing to for months, since you ask. Now go and play on the freeway, kid, you’re bothering me) and there’s a lot more land to cover in this one before I start to think about winding it up.
I killed someone tonight: a character who began as a one line throwaway some thousands of words ago but who sat in the back of my mind in such an insistent way that the last part of the story has directly involved him, and who has evolved into a major driver of the narrative. He didn’t even exist in my original visualisation of the story, but like all good characters, once he was given life he refused to just go the hell back into the dark. As a result, he’s moved the story in a much stronger direction than I had originally intended. Therein lay his doom because, in order for the next part of the narrative to resolve itself, he had to go.
And I’m genuinely sad. I liked him, and he was enormously fun to write– a character who grew before my eyes from a lampoon into a fully rounded person, not only conceptually but within the text, so that the reader (I hope) will see his personal growth and respond to it, and will feel some measure of sorrow when he dies. And, you know, it’s me talking, so you know it ain’t gonna be pretty. A writer wants his readers to identify with his characters, but that often means we have to do so first. If we feel pain at a character’s loss, then hopefully it means we’ll have done a good job at passing that pain on to you. Which, when I consider it like that, doesn’t sound like the nicest thing you can do to a pal…
Kill your babies. It’s a central tenet of writing effective fiction. But sometimes you can find yourself being surprised and delighted by one of the little mutant babies at the back of the room, one you really weren’t expecting to pay attention to, but who suddenly learns how to scratch their own name into an etch-a-sketch with one tentacle finger. Then having to put them down bites just that bit harder.
All in a month’s work.
PS: (Nothing But) Flowers in my pants. Oh, it’s going to be hard work to cleanse myself of this meme…..
Okay, it’s another in the endless procession of playlist memes, but this one is bloody funny!
Gakked from musesrealm:
1.) Put your media player of choice on shuffle.
2.) List the first fifteen songs that come up and add “in my pants” to the end.
3.) Bold the ones that actually made you laugh out loud.
1. Johnny The Horse in my pants
2. Stay With Me in my pants
3. Message to My Girl in my pants
4. Girl U Want in my pants
5. Blister In The Sun in my pants
6. Sowing The Seeds of Love in my pants
7. My Sharona in my pants
8. Rocket Man in my pants
9. When Doves Cry in my pants
10. At First Sight in my pants
11. Let There Be Love in my pants
12. I Eat Cannibals in my pants (Oh, the winner and still World Champion…)
13. Forever Autumn in my pants
14. You Shook me All Night Long in my pants
15. A Heady Tale in my pants
16. Who Can It Be Now in my pants (yes, I know that’s an extra one, but seriously, can you leave something that funny off the list?)
Honestly, sometimes these things just write themselves….
I’m working in the office. Aiden is on the couch watching the Foo Fighters Live at Wembley concert film. Suddenly he starts shouting at me to get in here, quick! So I haul in there. It’s the Foo Fighters. I’m not a fan. What am I going to be interested in?
Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones guest spot. Rock and Roll in front of 86 000 screaming fans.
86 000 fans going absolutely apeshit, plus two blokes in Clarkson, plus Dave Grohl bouncing around the stage in absurdly grinning fanboy heaven with the words Look at me, I’m drumming for Led Fucking Zeppelin! appearing above his head in thought bubbles fifty feet high.
Totally. Fucking. Awesome.