Category: canon

home day

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Crowfest was last night, though we sat on the patio and saw little of it.

There were ripped, sexy people playing with fire, and an Eastern European man balancing things with his tongue.

A hipster boy who somehow played guitar and keyboard at the same time.

And now, absolutely nothing.

A day, to edit.

Hallelujah, hallelujah, glory hallelujah.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1994 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The First 20 Hours, Josh Kaufmann
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v2 8-11
Music: Hangin' Tough, New Kids On The Block (this is a crime against art and music)

there i was, catching up

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But I’m in the doldrums, the part of the work that takes the longest.

Writing, without having to pause to review, takes the least time. I generally average about fifteen hundred words an hour, but that’s a bit of a misnomer.

If I’m hammering out a first draft, or stream-of-consciousness writing thoughts on particular chapter or theme, that time flies by. That hour is more like forty minutes.

Editing is editing. The time is the time. I say fifteen hundred words takes an hour, that means I sit and edit for an hour straight, no stopsies.

But the specific notes I make on scenes, reading the scene, jotting down changes I’d like to make, or ideas that I had, these come in tiny increments, and that hour suddenly equals two.

That’s where shit becomes an issue.

Someday, I’d like to be able to do six thousand words a day, but if it’s all this kind of stuff, that means eight straight hours of notes, which is a bit of a nightmare. Definitely can’t be done with a regular job on the side.

So, either I have to find a better way, less notes, more feel, more and faster iterations/drafts, or gut it out.

Or just get used to the fact that when this part hits…

I will fall behind.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1452 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: How To Read Nature, Tristan Gooley (perspective and systems and complex connections based on simple precepts, woo, sign me the fuck up.  You tickled my genius' g-spot with that one.)
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v2 4-7
Music: Hang-Ups, Goldfinger (terrific album)

epilogged

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Epilogued? What’s the best way to say that?

The return of complexity; we are preaching kindness as logic, and logic as kindness, but there are those still too lost to see past their own suffering.

Where does kindness stop? Is someone’s refusal to accept someone else’s kindness the line to draw? Or do we just hold back a moment to let them catch their breath and think it through?

Can cruelty be kindness? (Not actual cruelty, but hard truths, spoken softly, things people don’t want to hear, but needed to.)

Where do we draw the line? Where does compassion end?

For example, Donald Trump. In an absolute application of kindness, we’d show it to him as well, even though, at this point, it’s pretty clear he’s unredeemable. At this point, he just needs to be removed from office, and exorcised from society. Locked up, whatever. Out of power, along with all the other Republicans.

There’s still kindness in that, however. Maybe not for the Republicans, although we’re technically saving them from themselves.

But the greater kindness, to the rest of the world, the people being affected by their monstrosity.

The needs of the many, and all that.

Thanks, Spock, you’ve helped me prove my point – kindness is logic, logic, kindness.

We miss you, Mr. Nimoy, but thanks for what you left behind.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1463 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Jagannath, Karen Tidbeck (minus the body horror short stories, I rather enjoyed this.  Very accessible.  Nice.)
Comics: Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 12, Capes 10
Music: Ham Fisted, Local H (do these guys even have a bad album?  Same schtick, but it remains great.  Maybe their debut was a little weak.)

happy endings

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They’re kinda bullshit, aren’t they? I mean, all endings can be happy if they release the tension risen by the narrative, but still, complexity is better than 80s style TV wrap-ups.

I love it when a plan comes together, says Hannibal, chewing his cigar like cud. Yep, everything wrapped up nice, no real damage done. Lots of bullets fired and things blown up, cars flipping sideways over conveniently placed ramps, yet everyone walks away with nothing but a bump on the noggin and no concussion or post-injury brain bleeds or whatever.

Whatever.

People should end up scarred and broken. It gives them something to work on and overcome.

Like Scott Snyder wrote in American Vampire, scars on the skin aren’t bad things; they’re part of the story.

It’s a shame to filter them all away.

(Speaking of which, is that what’s behind this skincare craze, beyond corporate greed? People trying to make sure they have absolutely no blemishes, like an Instagram filter that scrapes away a person’s leathery skin, so when you see them and you think, yikes, what happened? Are you okay?)

Anyway, be proud of your aging skin. It got you where you are.

Nothing wrong with aging gracefully. Just me and Harrison Ford and Leonard Cohen. Looking like silver-haired gods.

(Them, not me. I’m but salt-and-pepper yet.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1597 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Jagannath, Karen Tidbeck
Comics: Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 10-11, Capes 8-9
Music: Hallowe'en, The Misfits

crescendo

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It’s a fun word, and that’s where I’m at. Tomorrow, I’ll take on the epilogue, which, unfortunately, I know needs a metric shit ton of work.

That’s an official measurement, you know.

Look it up.

A metric shit ton.

It’s a lot.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1485 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Armada, Ernest Cline (I wanted to like this, because I liked his first one so much, but it really feels like it was just Ready Player One redux, with a storyline lifted straight out of an Eighties teen sci-fi movie and Ender's Game.  Such a shame, really, and clearly, written for sequel, even though it's unlikely it'll ever get it.  It wasn't that good, and doesn't deserve one.)
Comics: Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 8-9, Capes 6-7
Music: Hallowed Ground, Violent Femmes (is every album brilliant, or what?)

i think i’m happy with that

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Sometimes, I feel like I’m too repetitive.

In The Mungk, it was semi-intentional. The metaphor was for trauma causing hopelessness, paralysis, as the world fell apart around you, and you descended into mindless hell.

In The Conflagration of Boor and Aghast, it’s used for some dramatic effect; Walter’s interactions with the dog, for example, grew increasingly tense, until, well, I don’t want to say until the book is released. It would be a shame to spoil it, if anyone actually cared.

In this one though, it seems out of place, and I feel like I’ve done it a lot.

Like the story could go in a crazy direction, but it doesn’t. I doesn’t really need to, but it’s a paranormal horror novel; it should a little.

I don’t know.

Is it weak? Is it thin?

Fuck, it feels thin.

Perhaps I’m not the man I thought I was.

Perhaps in the next one, one must get truly, truly insane.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1873 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Armada, Ernest Cline
Comics: Capes 3-5, Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 7
Music: Hallelujah! I'm A Bum, Local H (I always wanted to be one of those, though the reality of it has ripped the romanticism away; I think it had more to do with the idea of being happy no matter the circumstance.  A rejection of material things, an embrace of the present, no matter its conditions.  In retrospect, a bit naive, if well intentioned.)

you cool with that?

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Yeah, I’m cool with that, he thinks, as he finalizes the dying moments before the denouement (or the climax, the philosophical portion of the climax).

Yeah. I’m cool with that.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1183 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Armada, Ernest Cline
Comics: Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 5-6, Capes 1-2
Music: Halfway To Sanity, The Ramones (not me)

soooo tired

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So, so fucking tired.

How come the universe lets you have crazy dreams all night as a method of processing the sub/unconscious, but doesn’t let you have a goddamn night’s rest?

Huh, universe?

Am I sick of people or what?

Thanks, local mayoral and council candidates, for weeding yourselves out with your pro-AI data farm stance.

I was having trouble sifting through who’s what, and now I know.

There’s a few names off the list.

Fuck AI.

For the record, AI companies – none of you have any permission to use any of my work ever, for any reason, under any circumstances.

Or you can, but the cost is a billion dollars a word.

In other words, fuck you.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1832 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Armada, Ernest Cline
Comics: Invincible 141-144
Music: Half-Hour Of Power, Sum 41