woo, doggie

I’m playing in the land of metaphor this morning, detailing exactly where the left coincides with the right and the metaphors that bind them, in the context of Bad Neighbours.

Ironically, it ended being filtered through the judge’s verdict on the Hockey Canada sexual assault case acquittal, in which she posited that while we are all on the train of believing victims, doing so without examination essentially means applying the doctrine of guilty until proven innocent, when our system runs on innocent until proven guilty. There was enough conflicts, contradictions and assertions that didn’t agree with established facts in the case for the judge to reasonably decide that she could not say there was a crime committed, beyond doubt.

Reading the specifics of her verdict, I would probably make the same choice.

And it’s important, the distinction of innocent until proven guilty versus guilty until proven innocent. How many of us had listened to someone make assertions about the behaviour of their ex, or a coworker, or a friend or enemy that had no actual bearing in reality, even if we didn’t know it at the time? How many of us have had someone assert that their significant other was mistreating them, or playing the role of victim, or rationalizing away bad or regrettable behaviour on their part, because they didn’t actually want to take responsibility for what happened?

Most people don’t want to be responsible for their own actions. They live in denial. They falsely equivocate, they exaggerate, they outright lie, often to the point of deluding themselves as to what’s actually real, in order to avoid accountability for what’s ultimately on them.

You say you want freedom? You want truth?

You have to accept two things then: understand that total freedom comes with total responsibility – these are inseparable – and secondly, that reality is not what you want it to be, it’s what is, and if you want truth, you have to be willing to suspend your beliefs and the little fictions you tell yourself about yourself, or about the way things “should” be, and surrender your open, empty mind to what is, no matter the consequences.

Freedom is responsibility. Freedom is accepting consequence. Truth is what is, it’s not what you’d like to to be, or how you want to frame it. It’s what is.

So, innocent until proven guilty is the better way to go, because believing the accuser means automatically accepting their version of the truth, which we all know can be a highly creative, even self-deluding fiction at times. It can also be true, but that’s what the process is meant to find out (and admittedly, that depends on the competence and relative framework of the process, whether truly fair, fact-finding mission or kangaroo court). But guilty until proven innocent It’s not about what is; it’s about what’s asserted; it’s hypothesis without testing. You claim donkeys can fly, you have to prove that they can. The people you’re telling they can don’t.

That’s the way it works.

And that’s infinitely better than someone shouting, “Donkeys can fly!” and then having everyone that heard them run around scrambling to build wings for mules to make it true.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2749 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, Michael Lange (John Crichton)
Comics: Low 22, Black Science 40-41, Deadly Class 39
Music: War On Errorism, NOFX (legit one of the best punk albums ever written)

martyrs and charlatans

I once saw a chart that showed someone who worked super hard but made no connections versus someone who didn’t work, but made nothing but connections, and basically, it stuck them in two categories.

All work and no connection creates self-imposed martyrdom, while all connection and no work creates charlatans. Bullshitters versus drudge horses, with those that can find the balance (working hard and creating worthwhile things versus connecting with fans, with industry leaders and insiders, in a genuine, non-bullshit manner) as the true exceptions, the step above the rest. A martyr can find its work recognized and suddenly reach popularity, only to flame out over time (but still leaving behind good work).

A charlatan can become popular for nothing, and lose everything and be leave nothing behind.

I’m a martyr right now, that’s for sure.

May I never be a charlatan.

May I someday find the balance.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1114 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, John Lange (Michael Crichton)
Comics: Deadly Class 37-38, Black Science 39, Low 21
Music: War, U2

on to draft three

Some minor shit to settle in between for clarity, but by the time we head up to Temagami, I should be knuckle deep in the third draft.

Damn, dog.

Scandulus.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1244 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Poorhouse Fair, John Updike (they're old and bigoted, is that the point?)
Comics: Death Or Glory 4-5, Black Science 38, Seven To Eternity 11
Music: Walking After You, Foo Fighters

sidewaysssss

That’s how things have gone today. Tomorrow doesn’t promise to be much better.

On the plus side, I’m almost done planning for the new draft (with a few sidetracks) of Bad Neighbours.

I expect to be editing within the next week.

Hopefully, I can get something done while we’re away.

Working on time, instead of word count, has it benefits and detractions – it requires a set butt-in-seat time, and hitting a word target for me usually takes less time, unless I’m making notes like I’ve been doing, then it’s a combo, and takes longest of all.

Freeform works best; editing is the middle road.

Agonizing over the specific word, is it strong enough? Is it accurate? Am I being too precious?

Am I precious?

Or am I nothing at all?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1307 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Poorhouse Fair, John Updike (speaking of precious)
Comics: Death Or Glory 1-2, Deadly Class 34, Black Science 36
Music: Walk Among Us, Misfits

street names and the modern dichotomy

I had originally named the street my bad neighbours lived on Sigmund Avenue, but now, given the material, I rather think I’d like to find a name that is more fitting of the analogy of dichotomy I’ve made with this book.

With that in mind, I’m trying to track down the father of modern political dichotomy, the man most responsible for creating the left-right “split” that we’ve got going. I’m not talking about someone who exploits it, like Trump or Reagan or Bush (Junior or Senior).

I want the philosopher. The modern political thinker.

I’d considered Descartes, but the hunt continues.

Who started all this shit? Jesus?

Who was originator of us versus them as viable political theory? It has always been such; someone must have codified as proper, and watched as all these murderous assholes latched on to it. Who created authoritarianism, in its current sense?

Who is the son of bitch that said there’s only two sides to every issue, and third party be damned!

Which founding father is responsible for this shit?

Should that be a theme, a running theme? Things named after founding fathers who turned out to be assholes?

Who thought putting guns in the Constitution was a good idea?

I bet they’re one and the same.

Our way or no way. Us or them. Till death do us part.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1413 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Grass Is Singing, Doris Lessing
Comics: Seven To Eternity 6-7, Black Science 30, Deadly Class 29
Music: Extras: A Collection Of Rarities, The Jam

forty-eight plus one

And we’re back in the office.

And the office is making it very difficult to get done all the things I need to get done.

I need to get the Mungk in more hands.

I need artists, letters, colourists, an editor for Romance and Western Cradle.

I’ve more or less resigned myself to including the poetry and short stories in with The Mungk (well, maybe not the poetry – once I have enough of those, I may just do a volume of it).

But The Mungk – it needs to be seen. Romance, it’s just a calling card of a comic to build fans, a free giveaway I can hope someone enjoys, and then recognizes the creators later when we put out other stuff.

Western Cradle though – I think it’s good. It may be kind of rape-heavy, which sucks, but if we do it right, draw it right, it could be very, very strong.

But for now. The Mungk.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1141 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: A Study In Scarlet, Arthur Conan Doyle
Comics: Deadly Class 25-26, Seven To Eternity 4, Black Science 27
Music: Experimental Jet Set, Trash And No Star, Sonic Youth (palate cleanser after Bette fucking Midler)

spic and span

I had to look up the origin to this phrase earlier, because I left it in as a throwaway line on the last draft of Bad Neighbours (in relation to the main character worrying that the origin was racist), and I’m happy to report, it’s not.

It comes from a combination of the Norse and Dutch words for brand new.

Thank goodness.

I hate finding out things I’d taken for granted have terrible background stories (see Gaiman, Neil and the rule of thumb).

Dutch is a fucked up language, is it not?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 910 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Comics: Black Science 22-24, Low 15
Music: Experience, The Prodigy

on the verge

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

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

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