Category: canon

on the verge

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Tomorrow, we start this back to week program. It’s only three days a week, but I’m not sure how that’s going to affect my writing schedule.

Weeks were I’m in now tend to be struggles to find time, because of the extra prep and travel time involved, but I had two weeks to catch up if things went off.

Now… every week, possibly three days where I’m having to get up earlier or stay up later or drop other things I need to do in order to keep up?

Or worse, postponing everything to try and shove them in Thursday or Friday, or that other time that we’re supposed to have time but don’t, a weekend?

I am fretting.

Yes. Fretting.

Okay, freaking out.

I want this life, and I’m tired of fighting myself for it; I certainly don’t need the rest of the world piling on.

The Mungk left me hopeless, fatalist.

Bad Neighbours only feeds my anger.

I don’t need any more anger.

I have always had more than enough.

Fuck.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 611 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Almayer's Folly, Joseph Conrad
Comics: Fear Agent 9-12
Music: Euphoria Mourning, Chris Cornell (god, I miss that voice)

don’t judge me

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Eighty-three words may not seem like a lot, but I had to pore through the entire manuscript to find a few scraps of information that I need to keep straight for the next draft. I’ll be making my notes on the next draft next, and then, working on a larger ‘out-of-context’ grouping, where I got through the whole manuscript again, and all my notes and try to find where I’ve made notes on scenes other than the one I was supposed to be making notes on (a problem of mine I’ll need to learn to track better). If I make a great suggestion in a note because I had a thought while making notes on scene five, but for scene twenty-eight, well, I’ll never remember by the time I reach that point.

So, yeah.

If I want it all included later, I need to get more organized.

Still, I’m a bit better than I was, though The Mungk needed less organization, given it was so short. A better framework will be needed going forward.

No more flying by the seat of my pants.

Maybe not even any pants at all.

Maybe a nice skirt, or a pair of waders.

Sorry.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 356 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Almayer's Folly, Joseph Conrad
Comics: Fear Agent 5-8
Music: Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, Various

second draft

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And that’s that.

I think I added enough to make it all much better than the shit pile that is always a first draft, a solid foundation that doesn’t need major adjustment (hopefully), only tweaking to take decent to good, then good to great, then great to hopefully, epic.

Transcendent, even.

And in all fairness, my expectations are low. I considered my higher expectations met for The Mungk when I knew three people had read it. If I sold twenty-five hundred copies, it’d be divine. Twenty-five thousand would probably be orgasmic.

Transcendent, even.

My expectations for Bad Neighbours are higher, because it’s more ambitious, but still. It’s within reason for a wildly successful novel. Stephen King’s worst shit probably sold more than my top expectations for this thing.

But you never know.

Someday. Orgasmic.

Transcendent, even.

One can clearly hope. The question is whether hope is anything more than a wish in one hand, and you know what in the other.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 2214 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Metrophage, Richard Kadrey
Comics: Soulfire: The Core 1-2
Music: Essential Thorogood, George Thorogood & The Destroyers

last full week from home

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At least until I become a big, successful writer and people are watching The Mungk and Bad Neighbours on the screen (working title, of course, though I’m not sure what else to call it at this point. Shelley doesn’t seem right, and Lemon is the wrong focus).

Anyway, I’m going to try and enjoy that, at least, before everything gets fucked.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 2049 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Metrophage, Richard Kadrey
Comics: Fathom v8 1-4
Music: The Essential Billy Joel, Billy (oh dear god, it got worse) Joel

day off

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I’m taking the day tomorrow. Mostly, because we’ve been asked to take care of our granddaughter for the day/weekend (yes, sir! No problem, sir!), but because I am spiralling. I’m really not in a good place for work.

I feel like I’m behind, overworked, disorganized, putting way too much personal pressure on myself to meet standards and targets, and that’s not just work.

It’s me, fucking myself up.

Self-destructing, as always, and wanting to scrap it all and start again.

But I’ve done that too often.

I’ve come too far and I’m out of time.

After all, Donald Trump’s fascist state may invade or bomb us at any time. The psycho’s capable of anything, if it feeds his sad, little ego.

So, yeah.

Taking the day tomorrow.

Fuck Donald Trump.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1106 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 8, Aspen Universe: Decimation 1-3
Music: The Essential (1955-1983), Johnny Fuckin' Cash

back to work

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Well, I guess that’s it.

I’ve been torn in a thousand different directions, feel like I’m way behind on everything, and now, I have to go into the office three days out of every week, thus losing an hour of my day to prep and commute (not to mention the little moments I sneak on breaks and lunch to write, read, etc.)

This is going to hurt.

Fuck my life.

And fuck Donald Trump.

Just because.

Fuck him.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 2408 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Blackbirds, Chuck Wendig
Comics: Fathom: Kiani v4 4, The Four Points 2, Fathom: Blue 1-2
Music: Endtroducing, DJ Shadow

goodbye, weekend

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I’d hoped to find you lazy and unfilled, but instead, it’s a fucking free-for-all.

Again.

On the plus side, I found the time to really hammer down a particularly major scene in Bad Neighbours. If it all works as I planned, it (and one other particular scene) should be absolutely iconic.

There’s another scene that could also be considered iconic, but I actually left it out as an actual scene, only doing a videotaped callback to it later on.

Not sure that keeps iconic status, and becomes more plot device, played for anger and for laughs (and maybe a bit of titillation, which is a fun nod, now that I think about it.

Foreshadowing.

Doesn’t come up too much in the gross-out, cringe comedy genre.

Or does it?

Target: 1200 words
Written: 890 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Casino Royale, Ian Fleming
Comics: Fathom v4 8-9 (fuckin' Lobdell), Fathom: The Elite Saga 1-2
Music: End Of Days Soundtrack, Various

end me, week

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I don’t think I’ve felt this down in a while. I feel like everything is collapsing, and my usual techniques are not up to par.

I am working on it.

Part of me wants to burn it all down and start over (a-fucking-gain), but I’ve come too far and have too little time left to begin again.

At this point, it’s finish the chore of living or give the whole thing up.

I’m not sure what’s worse – trying constantly to make it and failing, or not bothering with it at all.

At least I’d have more free time if I gave up, more time for my family.

But this is the driver; I feel like walking death when I don’t let it out.

Let it fucking out, or let them fucking in. I don’t know which one is worse.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1084 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Thieves' World, Assorted Authors
Comics: Fathom: Kiani 4, Fathom v3 0-1, Aspen Showcase: Aspen Matthews 1
Music: Emigre, Anti-Flag

tenors

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It’s hard to write from viewpoints you don’t understand. Like, I’ve referenced the Three Tenors a couple of times in Bad Neighbours, as a symbol of higher art, but it’s something I’d never listen to. I’m sure it’s whatever, but I’m way more into people being genuine in their art; singing opera never felt truly genuine to me. It’s more about technique than emotion, more about the mastery of a skill than the genuine connection to the source material.

You can cover a song and imbue it with real meaning, but it’s when you use the song as a way to show off your skills that you lose me. It’s why I never gave a shit about Eddie Van Halen. Yeah, he was technically gifted, but there was as much genuine humanity and emotion in his work as Milli Vanilli. It’s also why I think AC/DC is brilliant. No, there’s no depth of lyrics there, and yes, Angus is as gifted as Eddie Van Halen, but you can tell when you listen to their songs, they fucking love what they do. They are themselves, unapologetically, and that, on its own, makes it worthy of a listen.

It’s the difference between a song sung with meaning in a show (see Daisy Jones & The Six) versus a standard musical. The gang covering Ooh La La had meaning to the plot, and added depth to the story. When they hamhand it into something like Riverdale or pretentious garbage like Moulin Rouge, it takes away from the story.

Musicals are bad for the same reason “show, don’t tell” is the rule in good writing. It’s exposition with a backbeat, and that pulls me right out of it. I no longer feel a connection to the characters or the material; you’re just preaching at me, and using a rhythm to do it. 

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1098 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: King Rat, China Mieville (speaking of pretention and music, really, drum & bass as the apotheosis of music, the saviour of all things and the base for communism?  Jesus, why do people like this guy?  Christ, what pretentious twaddle)
Comics: Fathom v2 9-11, Fathom: Kiani 0
Music: Elvis Costello Essential, Elvis Costello (pretention in music day all around, I guess)

edit knuckles

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You ever go back and read something you wrote and wonder, what the fuck? Why the fuck did I write that?

Why, when talking about opening a door, is the character thinking about how sticky his knuckles are?

His knuckles! How the fuck does this dude open doors?!?

Jesus, man. You got a long way to go.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1360 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Gilded Age: A Tale Of Today, Mark Twain
Comics: Hawk And Dove v2 27-28, Hawk And Dove v3 1-2 (who greenlit v3?  What a pile of fucking completely unconnected, poorly written shit.)
Music: Ed Sheeran Essentials, Ed Sheeran (fuck you, the kid seems like a dork, which is cool with me)