a few last notes

And then tomorrow, I’m done with the third draft, until the fourth draft.

And the fifth, sixth, seventh… The Mungk had thirteen total.

Hopefully, this ain’t that.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 260 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Time Machine, H.G. Wells
Comics: Tomb Raider 39-42
Music: Welcome To Paradise, Green Day

i mean, like, it’s getting there

I’ve got one scene left to revise in my third draft, and despite all my great notes with their wonderful additions and new directions and ideas and such, I’m not sure they all fit, or could fit, without monster rewrites and possible storyline changes, at this point.

Still, it’s a good start, and I will endeavour in the new round to go through all those notes and take whatever will really work, will add to the story and make it better than it is, and put it in.

That’s going to be a major task, I’m sure, and I’m starting to worry my end of year deadline isn’t going to be one I can reach.

I finished The Mungk on time last year; it was a novella.

This is much more ambitious and has taken up considerably more time and effort.

I imagine the next will be that again.

A book a year; maybe I’ll have all my work done before I’m eighty. Or even ninety. Ninety-one, perhaps.

I’ll retire on my ninety-first birthday. How’s that?

And then I’ll fucking die.

If I make it there first.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2869 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Captain Paul, Alexandre Dumas
Comics: Tomb Raider: Sphere Of Influence 1, Tomb Raider: Takeover 1, Tomb Raider 37-38
Music: Welcome To New York, The Rolling Stones

rants that went the wrong way

But were still somehow kind of right? Like, it’s the stuff you don’t want to say out loud, because it’s the kind of thing that a good and just society would never say or do, but ultimately, knows sometimes needs to be done?

I mean, I’m not saying anything in particular. In this case, it’s a part of Bad Neighbours, a peak point where things have gone off the rails and the main character has made a certain decision that ultimately, is the wrong decision, but also, kind of the right decision, in the way that we’d all like to ignore Nazis and let them have their little hate parades and such as long as they’re just out there playing pretend and don’t have any actual power and aren’t physically hurting other people.

But the second they do that? Well, I mean, I know how Jack Kirby would have seen it: see a Nazi, punch a Nazi, and certainly, the second there’s violence, it’s up to us to oppose it. I truly believe in the Tao concept of entering a fight like a funeral, with the same solemnity, and the intent to simply end it as quickly and peacefully as possible.

But then, what do I know? I’m a lifelong pacifist who has never actually been in a fight ever, beyond some wrestling with my older brother as kiss. I don’t think I’ve ever been punched in the face.

Then again, maybe that’s because I’m not a Nazi.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1826 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Captain Paul, Alexandre Dumas
Comics: Tomb Raider 33-36
Music: Welcome To My Dream, MC 900 feat. Jesus

sleeeeeeeep

Where does it go? Does it happen for other people?

Sorry, it’s really distracting to try and write while exhausted and while Sabrina Carpenter is signing about another woman tasting her pussy on her boyfriend’s lips.

I mean, I know she means it in a mean-spirited way, haha, motherfucker, your man goes down on not you, you get the leftovers, but still.

I guess this is the modern equivalent of lipstick on a collar or the scent of someone else’s perfume on your shirt?

Pussy mouth?

This is a wonderful world, isn’t it?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 907 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Captain Paul, Alexandre Dumas
Comics: Tomb Raider 30-32, Tomb Raider: Epiphany 1
Music: The Weirdness, The Stooges (yikes, downhill, guys)

lord almighty

The times, they are a-changin’.

And my body is freaking out with high blood pressure.

I wish I knew why.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1395 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Solar Lottery, Philip K. Dick
Comics: Tomb Raider 28-29, Tomb Raider Journeys 11-12
Music: Weird Tales Of The Ramones (Discs 1-3), The Ramones

coming close

I’m coming up on the end of the third draft. I’ll probably be another week or two, but then, hopefully, all the major components are there and it’s just tweaking and making sure all the little things, like what name I used for some mentioned place or character in scene two matches my return comment in scene thirty-one.

They kind of don’t.

I’m catching it as I go.

And all of a sudden, I’m panicking. Did I wing this shit? Is it poorly planned, poorly executed?

Damn it. I suck.

I’m sure all writers feel this way at some point, but also, at some point, it’s always fucking true.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1129 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Solar Lottery, Philip K. Dick (I like that women's fashion is apparently just walking around topless - bit pervy, kinda sexist, Dick, old boy)
Comics: Tomb Raider 26-27, Tomb Raider Journeys 9-10
Music: Weighting, Rollins Band

guilt

I mean, I’ve got a lot of it.

I try not to have it. I know people that look like me have done all kinds of horrible shit, and indeed, due to stupidity or selfishness or ignorance of the world around me, I’m sure I’ve done more than my fair share.

I haven’t been a great man. I’m still not, as far as I know.

My life has been defined by trauma – not real trauma. I was never beaten or raped or witnessed a horrible crime. I have PTSD from bad employers, but who doesn’t?

My trauma seems inconsequential; it’s not warzone PTSD or survivor’s guilt.

It’s knowing that every day, things get worse. Brain beaten, bit by bit, until my brain feels like a hockey enforcer with CTE, even if it might not look that way.

But it’s all excuses, or so I’m told. Avoidance. I should feel guiltier, they tell me. I should feel the weight of two thousand years of straight white male oppression.

And I do.

I don’t know how I stand it.

I don’t know how anyone stands it. I sit at the bottom of this world, like Atlas without the muscles, squished, guts oozing out my sides, eyes literally popping out of my skull like a sausage being run over by a Mack Truck.

And yet, somehow, still alive.

I feel it. I feel it all.

I feel the world’s pain, its anger, its suffering.

And I’m not sure how much longer I can stand.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2287 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider Journeys 5-6, Tomb Raider 23-24
Music: Weezer (White Album), Weezer

end of august

All-fucking-ready?

Jesus H. Jehosophat.

Is that how you spell that?

Is that the same guy?

I thought he was jumpin’.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1050 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider Journeys 3-4, Tomb Raider 21-22
Music: Weezer (Red Album), Weezer (what don't I love about these guys)

edited out

I’ve noticed a weird trend among my extended family over the years.

For whatever reason, they edit us out of their public lives. I’m not really sure why; it’s not like we’re over here spouting off Trumpisms or committing acts of wanton criminality.

Still, somehow, we never seem to make it into the pictures. If you searched online and tried to find me or my stepdaughter in any picture with my granddaughter (that we didn’t post ourselves), you’d never know we’d even met. Similarly, though pictures of my nieces are routinely posted with friends and other family members and friends of the family, we, despite having spent far more time and energy on the girls, are noticeably absent. These pictures are often accompanied by comments about how great that person is for the kids.

The suggestion, by way of omission, is that we are not good for the kids.

Indeed, at both nieces’ graduations, in which we were present, we weren’t mentioned at all. Well, technically, the second one, no one got thanked at all, it was more about musing on being empty nesters, but in the first one, well, every rando from birth to that day got mentioned, no matter how little time they spent with or on the girls, except us, who were with them more than anyone, except their own parents.

My youngest niece and my wife have a ridiculously close relationship and yet, for some reason, even she can’t make the cut.

It’s a gripe I’ve had for a while, but I just can’t figure it out. It’s not like we’re embarrassing white trash, out here spouting QAnon and JK Rowling.

I’m pro-equality, anti-racist, anti-bigotry of all kinds, anti-fascism, pro-free health care, pro-basic income and taxing the rich (in fact, let’s just do away with billionaires altogether), and I believe all people should be evaluated based on the things they actually do, not whatever random defining fact, like who they’re into or skin colour, happens to be one part of their make-up. Assuming that’s all there is to a person (even if that person is yourself) is such an injustice to people as they are.

We’re all so much more. We contain multitudes, and the only thing we should really judge by is action.

Anyways, not complaining, I get it. People curate their social media and they don’t want people they consider “lesser than” ruining their carefully crafted social images. I personally want my reputation to be based on what I do, not the fucking fluff people put on Instagram.

We all know that shit’s B.S. anyway. Your performative liberalism is better than being a Trumper, for sure, but it’s also shittier than being, you know, a good fucking person.

Disingenuous is better than evil; that doesn’t mean it’s good. Same with hypocrisy. If your hypocrisy is getting people killed, obviously, that’s worse, but if it’s just stalling real progress because the only thing it does is serve your reputation by being part of the collective (and socially and mentally toxic) online outrage?

Well, shit, dude. That sucks too, just not as bad.

It doesn’t help anyone.

And shouldn’t we aim to be better than, you know, not as bad as the other guy?

I mean, I know that’s what I’m aiming for, even if I fall short quite a bit. Being a good person, a happy person (something I’ve not entirely given up on, despite the last forty-eight years of evidence), that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To write me off as an alcoholic redneck and ignore every other aspect of me and the rest of my family (and I suspect a great deal of this is rooted in ableism, even if it’s unconscious), well, then, fuck.

That’s pretty shitty, and it doesn’t feel good.

Maybe we strive for better, yeah?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1203 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider: The Greatest Treasure Of All 0, Tomb Raider 19-20, Tomb Raider Journeys 2
Music: Weezer (Teal Album), Weezer