naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The fun thing about pulpy sci-fantasy is that implied questionmark. Nothing is ever really over, the villain is never really dead, the earth never really saved. After all, it's a weekly serial, and there's no draw in Happily Ever After.

New bad guys always wait over the horizon, humanity is threatened yet again, and the intrepid hero is, time and again, thrown into unlikely situations with incredibly beautiful women who are eager to make out with him.

That reflects how I feel right now, at the official end of National Novel Writing Month. I have churned out my 50k-plus words, but I still have about 14k left to go, I think. The story marches on. It isn't over yet. And once I finish this book, there's always the next, and the one after that.

So it's never "The End." Only "Until Next Week."

And I like that.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
56,894 / 50,000
(113.7%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The fun thing about pulpy sci-fantasy is that implied questionmark. Nothing is ever really over, the villain is never really dead, the earth never really saved. After all, it's a weekly serial, and there's no draw in Happily Ever After.

New bad guys always wait over the horizon, humanity is threatened yet again, and the intrepid hero is, time and again, thrown into unlikely situations with incredibly beautiful women who are eager to make out with him.

That reflects how I feel right now, at the official end of National Novel Writing Month. I have churned out my 50k-plus words, but I still have about 14k left to go, I think. The story marches on. It isn't over yet. And once I finish this book, there's always the next, and the one after that.

So it's never "The End." Only "Until Next Week."

And I like that.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
56,894 / 50,000
(113.7%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
The lizards advanced from the darkness as a pair, and Jackson saw the horrible truth: it was not a pair of creatures, but a single beast, two heads united on a huge reptilian body.

The word it is, at the moment, The Word. Number fifty-thousand. Editing will doubtless eventually shift this to something more interesting.

Now I'm left with a kind of silly feeling . . . I've crossed the finish line, but I can't say "done!" and throw up my hands. Not when the last sentence I wrote goes like this:

Jorvash the Terrible's voice echoed down from his vantage above. "How do you like my pets? The heads have distinct personalities, you know. And I shall enjoy watching them fight over the scraps of your innards."

Could you leave your intrepid heroes at the mercy of a giant, two-headed Kimberly rock monitor?

I thought not.

I'm very close to being done, though. If I can keep up at around 1,600 words a day, with two days off a week, I should finish sometime in the middle of next month. Which is impressive progress, really. Better than anything I've ever managed before.

I'm surprised. With all the things going wrong in my life, with the year's circle turned where it is, I shouldn't be able to work at all. And yet . . . perhaps that is the magic of the season.

It's always a strange time, the weeks between October and sun's birth at December's end. The year is dying, and yet the seeds of the new are already planted. And this month of steady writing has felt very much like banking the creative fire against the cold to come.

It's important work, make no mistake, both for me individually, and for everyone who does it, and for society as a whole. There was a time when our species lived on not much more than stories from dark to dark all through the sleeping season. We haven't come that far, really. We still need storytellers.

So, a toast to everyone who's been writing, for NaNo or otherwise, whether you're behind or not. Every word counts. And a toast as well to every muse, be she contrary or well-fed, reclusive or frighteningly forward. Without that mysterious dance of inspiration whirling in the human mind, the world would be a sad place, indeed; both for those who write, and for those who listen, and warm themselves beside our fire for a little while, providing our much-needed audience.

But that's all the philosophy I can stand. I'll be back to check in on you later. Right now, I have to save a couple of hot guys from a giant, two-headed lizard.

Zokutou word meter
50,163 / 50,000
(100.3%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
The lizards advanced from the darkness as a pair, and Jackson saw the horrible truth: it was not a pair of creatures, but a single beast, two heads united on a huge reptilian body.

The word it is, at the moment, The Word. Number fifty-thousand. Editing will doubtless eventually shift this to something more interesting.

Now I'm left with a kind of silly feeling . . . I've crossed the finish line, but I can't say "done!" and throw up my hands. Not when the last sentence I wrote goes like this:

Jorvash the Terrible's voice echoed down from his vantage above. "How do you like my pets? The heads have distinct personalities, you know. And I shall enjoy watching them fight over the scraps of your innards."

Could you leave your intrepid heroes at the mercy of a giant, two-headed Kimberly rock monitor?

I thought not.

I'm very close to being done, though. If I can keep up at around 1,600 words a day, with two days off a week, I should finish sometime in the middle of next month. Which is impressive progress, really. Better than anything I've ever managed before.

I'm surprised. With all the things going wrong in my life, with the year's circle turned where it is, I shouldn't be able to work at all. And yet . . . perhaps that is the magic of the season.

It's always a strange time, the weeks between October and sun's birth at December's end. The year is dying, and yet the seeds of the new are already planted. And this month of steady writing has felt very much like banking the creative fire against the cold to come.

It's important work, make no mistake, both for me individually, and for everyone who does it, and for society as a whole. There was a time when our species lived on not much more than stories from dark to dark all through the sleeping season. We haven't come that far, really. We still need storytellers.

So, a toast to everyone who's been writing, for NaNo or otherwise, whether you're behind or not. Every word counts. And a toast as well to every muse, be she contrary or well-fed, reclusive or frighteningly forward. Without that mysterious dance of inspiration whirling in the human mind, the world would be a sad place, indeed; both for those who write, and for those who listen, and warm themselves beside our fire for a little while, providing our much-needed audience.

But that's all the philosophy I can stand. I'll be back to check in on you later. Right now, I have to save a couple of hot guys from a giant, two-headed lizard.

Zokutou word meter
50,163 / 50,000
(100.3%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
My creative life is incredibly strange.

I may yet become the first person to fanfiction myself. I have two books now where The Princess gets abducted. Sargon has, multiple times, requested an account of what happened to the incomparable Velah Argus during her time in the four hands of the dastardly Thoros Thane, and will, once he reads this next bit of book two, no doubt start badgering me about what happens to Velah and Zirel, the Beastmistress, when they are abducted by Jorvash the Terrible (no relation).

As it stands, this may well be the best choice for his Christmas present. Custom porn. Written about my own non-porn characters.

I just have one problem. Both books are written in a strictly third-person limited viewpoint, following Jack, the hero, whose sense of humor and general sanity is all that keeps the story from being completely ridiculous. At no point do I venture into the thoughts of the other characters.

And yet, good ol' Jack is not around to witness the humiliation of the Hot Chicks, and so I can't use his viewpoint for this.

To recount the trials of Velah Argus, I'd have to do it from her point of view. And I don't honestly know if I should do it first-person, which would be so breathlessly melodramatic that I am nauseated just thinking about it. I could do it third-person limited, staying within her thoughts and feelings. Or, most challenging, I could try third-person omniscient, moving from viewpoint to viewpoint, between both the Princess, her captors, and the other captives (Unlucky Prince from Book One, and The Eternal Mouthy Sidekick are present for parts of both episodes, though not all).

All these options have their pros and cons. Chiefly: I am very comfortable working in the first-person for porn, and very comfortable working in third-person limited for non-porn. So I have very little experience writing porn from third-person.

I supppose I will learn, won't I?

Such little dilemmas are the cinnamon sprinkling the eggnog of a rich creative life.

In other news, last night I cracked 46,000 words. Only 4,000 to go! If I bust my ass, I can have it done early. Like, tomorrow, if I quit jerking off. (Thanks, THANKS, [livejournal.com profile] eudaimon, I needed that like I needed . . . well, I really needed that, actually, so . . . thanks!)

So, while I go do that (go work, not jerk off) behold the little progress-meter of doom:

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
46,863 / 50,000
(93.7%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
My creative life is incredibly strange.

I may yet become the first person to fanfiction myself. I have two books now where The Princess gets abducted. Sargon has, multiple times, requested an account of what happened to the incomparable Velah Argus during her time in the four hands of the dastardly Thoros Thane, and will, once he reads this next bit of book two, no doubt start badgering me about what happens to Velah and Zirel, the Beastmistress, when they are abducted by Jorvash the Terrible (no relation).

As it stands, this may well be the best choice for his Christmas present. Custom porn. Written about my own non-porn characters.

I just have one problem. Both books are written in a strictly third-person limited viewpoint, following Jack, the hero, whose sense of humor and general sanity is all that keeps the story from being completely ridiculous. At no point do I venture into the thoughts of the other characters.

And yet, good ol' Jack is not around to witness the humiliation of the Hot Chicks, and so I can't use his viewpoint for this.

To recount the trials of Velah Argus, I'd have to do it from her point of view. And I don't honestly know if I should do it first-person, which would be so breathlessly melodramatic that I am nauseated just thinking about it. I could do it third-person limited, staying within her thoughts and feelings. Or, most challenging, I could try third-person omniscient, moving from viewpoint to viewpoint, between both the Princess, her captors, and the other captives (Unlucky Prince from Book One, and The Eternal Mouthy Sidekick are present for parts of both episodes, though not all).

All these options have their pros and cons. Chiefly: I am very comfortable working in the first-person for porn, and very comfortable working in third-person limited for non-porn. So I have very little experience writing porn from third-person.

I supppose I will learn, won't I?

Such little dilemmas are the cinnamon sprinkling the eggnog of a rich creative life.

In other news, last night I cracked 46,000 words. Only 4,000 to go! If I bust my ass, I can have it done early. Like, tomorrow, if I quit jerking off. (Thanks, THANKS, [livejournal.com profile] eudaimon, I needed that like I needed . . . well, I really needed that, actually, so . . . thanks!)

So, while I go do that (go work, not jerk off) behold the little progress-meter of doom:

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
46,863 / 50,000
(93.7%)


link

NaNOOO!

Nov. 22nd, 2004 10:37 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Here we are at the beginning of Week Four. I feel like I should say something pithy.

Lucky you all, I am a writer, so I have two pithy things to say.

1) If I write a thousand words a day, I will be over 50,000 in time, with some extra wiggle room for Completely Unproductive Days (Today, Thursday, Saturday).

But I'm in an odd position – 50,000 words is not going to see the end of my novel. I'm thinking more around 70 or 80k, so I still have a ways to go. The 50k milestone is simply the end of the official challenge, but it marks no real turning point for me. I'll still be elbow-deep.

I will need your help.

Yes, you.

Get your hand out of your pants.

After this month is over, I will need you all to be tolerant of me still talking about this fucking thing. You would not believe how helpful it is to be able to do this. Even if I'm not getting feedback on the actual novel, I'm still able to touch base with you lot, and I will consequently feel at least marginally responsible for turning out a few hundred words a day, since I know you're expecting to hear about it.

You very well may well hate it, but please don't disillusion me. I cherish the lies I tell myself. Besides, this is my journal, I can do what I like. Also, keep in mind: if you don't like what I write, and you annoy me, I can always have your face gnawed off by radioactive spiders in the next book. (And you know that's how spiders flirt, right?)

In short, once December rolls around, pester me about this fucking thing, would you? Just a little bit? Thanks. I don't want to commit libris interruptus and quit for a month (or a year) in the middle.

2) What I have learned this week:

It is possible to love and hate what you're doing, all at once.

I adore the pulp fiction genre. Yet there are limitations to it, limitations imposed by the genre itself, and bending and stretching those limits is difficult, indeed. It is at once its own reward and its own punishment.

I feel like I've hit a wall. I can't kill any characters . . . I need them for future books. That's part of the genre. So there's never any real risk, which leads to lack of involvement. This is a crippling flaw in a normal narrative. You have to strike a balance between never putting your characters at risk, and killing characters randomly, viciously, and arbitrarily simply to "maintain realism" and keep the reader on her toes. The former approach means the reader never feels any real worry, and the latter means that the reader learns never to trust you, and as a defense mechanism, stops allowing themselves to care about your characters at all.

For examples of the first, any pulp series – or almost any popular series -- will do. As examples of the latter, I point a sternly disapproving finger at George R. R. Martin, whose talent is almost incredible enough to make up for the fact that he killed my two favorite characters in the very first book. He even managed the amazing feat of killing a third cool character before he was even born. While I like a slightly grittier approach, and I loved the book to little pieces, I still have not forgiven him enough to read the others. Or even reread the first one.

The first approach is accepted for pulp, but I still find it frustrating. It feels as though the whole thing is merely "go to crazy location A, fight monster B, kill it or get interrupted, go to crazy location C, fight monsters D, get captured, go to location E, fight bad guy F, get interrupted . . ." etc., etc.

I'm retreading philosophical ground that was covered by [livejournal.com profile] theferrett quite recently, though, and I'm even using some of the same examples, so I believe I'll just wrap up by saying that I accept it's part of the series. I will work around it when I can, and I can comfort myself by saving the deep and difficult work for the upcoming Vampire Angst Novel. Since my character now has a name, it's a given I'll be starting it pretty soon.

Unless of course my ship is boarded by the dreaded porn pirates, who then compel me at sword's point to write more smut.

Hey.

It could happen.

(Especially if you lot keep sending me smutty links, and writing smutty fiction, which you post where I can see it.)

And now: my word count, the result of days of vigorous procrastination.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
43,107 / 50,000
(86.0%)



link

NaNOOO!

Nov. 22nd, 2004 10:37 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Here we are at the beginning of Week Four. I feel like I should say something pithy.

Lucky you all, I am a writer, so I have two pithy things to say.

1) If I write a thousand words a day, I will be over 50,000 in time, with some extra wiggle room for Completely Unproductive Days (Today, Thursday, Saturday).

But I'm in an odd position – 50,000 words is not going to see the end of my novel. I'm thinking more around 70 or 80k, so I still have a ways to go. The 50k milestone is simply the end of the official challenge, but it marks no real turning point for me. I'll still be elbow-deep.

I will need your help.

Yes, you.

Get your hand out of your pants.

After this month is over, I will need you all to be tolerant of me still talking about this fucking thing. You would not believe how helpful it is to be able to do this. Even if I'm not getting feedback on the actual novel, I'm still able to touch base with you lot, and I will consequently feel at least marginally responsible for turning out a few hundred words a day, since I know you're expecting to hear about it.

You very well may well hate it, but please don't disillusion me. I cherish the lies I tell myself. Besides, this is my journal, I can do what I like. Also, keep in mind: if you don't like what I write, and you annoy me, I can always have your face gnawed off by radioactive spiders in the next book. (And you know that's how spiders flirt, right?)

In short, once December rolls around, pester me about this fucking thing, would you? Just a little bit? Thanks. I don't want to commit libris interruptus and quit for a month (or a year) in the middle.

2) What I have learned this week:

It is possible to love and hate what you're doing, all at once.

I adore the pulp fiction genre. Yet there are limitations to it, limitations imposed by the genre itself, and bending and stretching those limits is difficult, indeed. It is at once its own reward and its own punishment.

I feel like I've hit a wall. I can't kill any characters . . . I need them for future books. That's part of the genre. So there's never any real risk, which leads to lack of involvement. This is a crippling flaw in a normal narrative. You have to strike a balance between never putting your characters at risk, and killing characters randomly, viciously, and arbitrarily simply to "maintain realism" and keep the reader on her toes. The former approach means the reader never feels any real worry, and the latter means that the reader learns never to trust you, and as a defense mechanism, stops allowing themselves to care about your characters at all.

For examples of the first, any pulp series – or almost any popular series -- will do. As examples of the latter, I point a sternly disapproving finger at George R. R. Martin, whose talent is almost incredible enough to make up for the fact that he killed my two favorite characters in the very first book. He even managed the amazing feat of killing a third cool character before he was even born. While I like a slightly grittier approach, and I loved the book to little pieces, I still have not forgiven him enough to read the others. Or even reread the first one.

The first approach is accepted for pulp, but I still find it frustrating. It feels as though the whole thing is merely "go to crazy location A, fight monster B, kill it or get interrupted, go to crazy location C, fight monsters D, get captured, go to location E, fight bad guy F, get interrupted . . ." etc., etc.

I'm retreading philosophical ground that was covered by [livejournal.com profile] theferrett quite recently, though, and I'm even using some of the same examples, so I believe I'll just wrap up by saying that I accept it's part of the series. I will work around it when I can, and I can comfort myself by saving the deep and difficult work for the upcoming Vampire Angst Novel. Since my character now has a name, it's a given I'll be starting it pretty soon.

Unless of course my ship is boarded by the dreaded porn pirates, who then compel me at sword's point to write more smut.

Hey.

It could happen.

(Especially if you lot keep sending me smutty links, and writing smutty fiction, which you post where I can see it.)

And now: my word count, the result of days of vigorous procrastination.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
43,107 / 50,000
(86.0%)



link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
You know the urge to write smut is slowly taking over your brain when you repeatedly type "insex" instead of "insects."

I have GOT to finish this novel. Because . . . yeah. If porn were to happen right now, in this book, there would, as the large wrestler said after being lit on fire, Be No Survivors.

There's nobody in the scene but about a dozen giant preying mantises, a straight Texan gunfighter, and a dorkily cute, tree-hugging pacifist. I know who would end up on the bottom of that pileup.

Speaking of porn . . . I must now hold out the big, warm, fluffy, pink bath towel of thank-you to poor dripping-wet [livejournal.com profile] eudaimon. Why is she wet? Go see, you fools! She writes excellent smut. And I say that as someone who is nearly as finicky as a Siamese cat. And this one she wrote for me. So I'm entitled to be smug as a Siamese cat, as well. That sound you don't hear? That's me smirking.

Thank you, darling. I am feeling much better now after some hot chocolate, hot apple pie, and hot porn.

And those of you feeling less porny and more snarky, in line with my Men-Men post of yesterday, should count your blessings and read [livejournal.com profile] wicked_wish's account of her experiences with Aunt Flo. Not graphic, truly hilarious, and a prime example of why I am glad my mother simply never had The Talk with me. You know, kids seem to take this kind of thing much better than adults.

Just thought I'd throw the links your way, seeing as how it's a day for things worth reading.

I will now conclude this interruption and leave you to your regularly-scheduled surfing.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
You know the urge to write smut is slowly taking over your brain when you repeatedly type "insex" instead of "insects."

I have GOT to finish this novel. Because . . . yeah. If porn were to happen right now, in this book, there would, as the large wrestler said after being lit on fire, Be No Survivors.

There's nobody in the scene but about a dozen giant preying mantises, a straight Texan gunfighter, and a dorkily cute, tree-hugging pacifist. I know who would end up on the bottom of that pileup.

Speaking of porn . . . I must now hold out the big, warm, fluffy, pink bath towel of thank-you to poor dripping-wet [livejournal.com profile] eudaimon. Why is she wet? Go see, you fools! She writes excellent smut. And I say that as someone who is nearly as finicky as a Siamese cat. And this one she wrote for me. So I'm entitled to be smug as a Siamese cat, as well. That sound you don't hear? That's me smirking.

Thank you, darling. I am feeling much better now after some hot chocolate, hot apple pie, and hot porn.

And those of you feeling less porny and more snarky, in line with my Men-Men post of yesterday, should count your blessings and read [livejournal.com profile] wicked_wish's account of her experiences with Aunt Flo. Not graphic, truly hilarious, and a prime example of why I am glad my mother simply never had The Talk with me. You know, kids seem to take this kind of thing much better than adults.

Just thought I'd throw the links your way, seeing as how it's a day for things worth reading.

I will now conclude this interruption and leave you to your regularly-scheduled surfing.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Despite a long and shitty weekend where I got very little actually accomplished, I still managed to break 35,000 words. I'm ahead of the game, if not as far ahead as I had hoped.

But progress or not, there is just something liberating about writing really bad fiction. It frees you, somehow. My main character can utter lines like "Damn. I dropped my fungus," and "What are our assets again? A dead bat? Great." And it doesn't seem out of place.

In fact, he is turning out to be a sort of unholy cross between Jack Burton and Captain Mal. And, after 300 pages of the first novel, and 125 of this one, give or take a few, I think I am in love with him.

I'm still hitting the point where I want to quit – I'm tired. I want to work on something else. But I know from bitter experience, if I stop now, it'll be a break of at least a month. If I keep going, I'll hit my second wind sometime late this week, and burn through the rest of this bitch like two dozen cayenne buffalo wings through a fat man with the intestinal flu.

Only, you know, less repulsive. Though the results are liable to be just as stinky.

I'm hitting my stride, but it's a lot of goddamn work. Fortunately, I need the vacation. Writing, for me, is like an all expenses paid trip out of my head. It's like being whisked away by aliens and dumped on a strange planet with only a knife and an apple corer, and being told to survive for the month or six it takes to finish a book. Yes, part of my brain is staggering around in horror bleating "what fresh Hell is this?" But the other part is going "This Hell is GREAT! You don't get forests of impaled like this in the backyard, no sirree! And just listen to those screams of the damned! Yes, this is prime Lake-of-Fire beachfront property."

I may have mentioned this before, but I tend to work more when I'm depressed or frustrated than when I'm not. I think because only extreme emotional distress makes the mental contortions and extensive periods of ignoring What Needs To Be Done seem tame by comparison.

Pain is very motivational. I wish, though, that I had something more encouraging and less angst-ridden – written? -- to get me through.

What I really need is a cheerleading squad.

When I was in High School, my Psychology/History teacher was also the girls' volleyball coach. The gym was being renovated, so the girls for the volleyball team and the cheerleading squad had to change in the cafeteria, which was right next to the Psych classroom.

I used to hang out with Coach T. after school, nursing a shitty RC cola from the cafeteria vending machine and talking about Tycho Brahe and Skinner boxes. We would both watch the girls get changed into their uniforms. You know how girls can change clothes without ever taking anything off? Yeah. They did that like pros. I still saw lots of leotarded bottoms and naked thighs.

I wonder to this day if Coach T. knows that I was totally on to him watching them, and whether he was on to me watching them, too. This one girl I had a horrible crush on was always there, shimmying into her outfit. She had the greatest ass. I have a Catholic schoolgirl fetish solely because of her.

Christ, the old days were Hell on earth, but sometimes I really, really miss it.

Whoa. Tangent. Sorry about that.

I will now inflict my word count upon you and crawl back to the pit from whence I came. You can think about cheerleaders and volleyball chicks.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
35,526 / 50,000
(71.0%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Despite a long and shitty weekend where I got very little actually accomplished, I still managed to break 35,000 words. I'm ahead of the game, if not as far ahead as I had hoped.

But progress or not, there is just something liberating about writing really bad fiction. It frees you, somehow. My main character can utter lines like "Damn. I dropped my fungus," and "What are our assets again? A dead bat? Great." And it doesn't seem out of place.

In fact, he is turning out to be a sort of unholy cross between Jack Burton and Captain Mal. And, after 300 pages of the first novel, and 125 of this one, give or take a few, I think I am in love with him.

I'm still hitting the point where I want to quit – I'm tired. I want to work on something else. But I know from bitter experience, if I stop now, it'll be a break of at least a month. If I keep going, I'll hit my second wind sometime late this week, and burn through the rest of this bitch like two dozen cayenne buffalo wings through a fat man with the intestinal flu.

Only, you know, less repulsive. Though the results are liable to be just as stinky.

I'm hitting my stride, but it's a lot of goddamn work. Fortunately, I need the vacation. Writing, for me, is like an all expenses paid trip out of my head. It's like being whisked away by aliens and dumped on a strange planet with only a knife and an apple corer, and being told to survive for the month or six it takes to finish a book. Yes, part of my brain is staggering around in horror bleating "what fresh Hell is this?" But the other part is going "This Hell is GREAT! You don't get forests of impaled like this in the backyard, no sirree! And just listen to those screams of the damned! Yes, this is prime Lake-of-Fire beachfront property."

I may have mentioned this before, but I tend to work more when I'm depressed or frustrated than when I'm not. I think because only extreme emotional distress makes the mental contortions and extensive periods of ignoring What Needs To Be Done seem tame by comparison.

Pain is very motivational. I wish, though, that I had something more encouraging and less angst-ridden – written? -- to get me through.

What I really need is a cheerleading squad.

When I was in High School, my Psychology/History teacher was also the girls' volleyball coach. The gym was being renovated, so the girls for the volleyball team and the cheerleading squad had to change in the cafeteria, which was right next to the Psych classroom.

I used to hang out with Coach T. after school, nursing a shitty RC cola from the cafeteria vending machine and talking about Tycho Brahe and Skinner boxes. We would both watch the girls get changed into their uniforms. You know how girls can change clothes without ever taking anything off? Yeah. They did that like pros. I still saw lots of leotarded bottoms and naked thighs.

I wonder to this day if Coach T. knows that I was totally on to him watching them, and whether he was on to me watching them, too. This one girl I had a horrible crush on was always there, shimmying into her outfit. She had the greatest ass. I have a Catholic schoolgirl fetish solely because of her.

Christ, the old days were Hell on earth, but sometimes I really, really miss it.

Whoa. Tangent. Sorry about that.

I will now inflict my word count upon you and crawl back to the pit from whence I came. You can think about cheerleaders and volleyball chicks.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
35,526 / 50,000
(71.0%)


link

Oops.

Nov. 11th, 2004 11:37 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Huge, glaring logic flaw, meet novel!

But, hey, it's taken almost 30,000 words to reach the first major plot error.

Unfortunately, this is the kind of error I can't skip past -- it affects everything that comes after. I just hope I can resolve it in time to get some work done tomorrow. Otherwise my word count is going to go into the proverbial handbasket over the weekend.

I will, as they say, sleep on it. But not before I make you look at my word-meter.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
28,269 / 50,000
(56.0%)


link

Oops.

Nov. 11th, 2004 11:37 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Bondage)
Huge, glaring logic flaw, meet novel!

But, hey, it's taken almost 30,000 words to reach the first major plot error.

Unfortunately, this is the kind of error I can't skip past -- it affects everything that comes after. I just hope I can resolve it in time to get some work done tomorrow. Otherwise my word count is going to go into the proverbial handbasket over the weekend.

I will, as they say, sleep on it. But not before I make you look at my word-meter.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
28,269 / 50,000
(56.0%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
I wrote 4,000 words yesterday. And another 3,000 in the early part of today. And my hand hurts like Hell.

My characters are not running away with the plot. They are wearing it like a chintzy showgirl costume and shaking it for all they are worth. In other words, they're doing what I had hoped they'd do, only they're doing it in such an extravagantly loud and overstated manner that I have no choice but to sit back and laugh.

We now have hot, naked red chicks and exploding bugs. Tomorrow? Bandits!

In an effort to contribute something beyond just "hey, lookit my word count," I am going to share a trick with you, sparked by a question someone asked, and a post in the NaNo journal. If you even care to hear writing advice from someone who has no "real" writing credits.

Advice. Maybe bad advice. )

Now that my incredibly pompous lecturing is finished, cringe at my word count!

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
25,848 / 50,000
(51.0%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
I wrote 4,000 words yesterday. And another 3,000 in the early part of today. And my hand hurts like Hell.

My characters are not running away with the plot. They are wearing it like a chintzy showgirl costume and shaking it for all they are worth. In other words, they're doing what I had hoped they'd do, only they're doing it in such an extravagantly loud and overstated manner that I have no choice but to sit back and laugh.

We now have hot, naked red chicks and exploding bugs. Tomorrow? Bandits!

In an effort to contribute something beyond just "hey, lookit my word count," I am going to share a trick with you, sparked by a question someone asked, and a post in the NaNo journal. If you even care to hear writing advice from someone who has no "real" writing credits.

Advice. Maybe bad advice. )

Now that my incredibly pompous lecturing is finished, cringe at my word count!

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
25,848 / 50,000
(51.0%)


link

NaNo Bites!

Nov. 9th, 2004 07:18 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
Procrastination strikes!

Wow. Okay, one of my favorite things ever is prehistoric mammals. So, while doing some vaguely NaNo-related research today, I ran across a site that sells resin models of the saber- and dirk-toothed cats, as well as a bunch of other prehistoric mammals. How cool is this?

Here is the classic saber-tooth, Smilodon fatalis, in all his glory.

As well as his cousin, the handsome Machairodus giganteus. Complete with cat balls for accuracy.

And my absolute favorite dirk-tooth, Megantereon cultridens, represented beautifully here. I want this guy so bad. Of course, when would I have time to paint him?

And that's not all.

Check out all his majesty!

Animals were so fucking weird-looking back then!

This has to be one of the best paint jobs I've ever seen. And this is a newly-discovered species, so I'm all over it!

And, this is not a cat, but can I just say Holy Shit I am glad these things are extinct. Take a look at the picture halfway down the page that shows how big they were. Giant pigs scare me.

All of this has gotten me no closer to my word-count, but it has given me a horrible urge to create an army of mutant Megantereon. If I could just find that old chemistry set. . . .

In other NaNews, my main character just picked a hellacious fight with someone else, thus proving that he has no idea what is good for him. He is fighting with The Girl. Now, don't get me wrong. This was slated to happen. But he's going for extra credit by doing it a little bit early. I was afraid I'd have to force the conflict, but apparently not. No, he's more than happy to shoot his mouth off without thinking, probably ruining his chances of scoring with her in this book.

Does it make me a bad person that I am enjoying his suffering more than anything I've enjoyed in weeks?

Does it make me crazy that, when she finally slammed the door in his face, I gave such a nasty cackle that my cat fled for cover, thinking the Pumpkin Suit was coming out?

Work still proceeds. The plot advances by 2,000 words, and with it, the pulpy goodness. We have fermented snail slime, giant bats, man-eating jellyfish trees, six-legged saber-toothed panthers, and giant wasp-mantises infesting the evil analog of Oral Roberts' City of Faith.

Okay. Unless you live in Oklahoma, you are unlikely to take the same cackling, hand-rubbing glee in that last that I do, but, hey. I take my pleasure where I can get it. If I could really infest Oral Roberts "University" with a plague of giant, flesh-eating insects, I would. Because, even though not much actually rhymes with it, justice should still be poetic.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
21,076 / 50,000
(42.1%)


link

NaNo Bites!

Nov. 9th, 2004 07:18 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
Procrastination strikes!

Wow. Okay, one of my favorite things ever is prehistoric mammals. So, while doing some vaguely NaNo-related research today, I ran across a site that sells resin models of the saber- and dirk-toothed cats, as well as a bunch of other prehistoric mammals. How cool is this?

Here is the classic saber-tooth, Smilodon fatalis, in all his glory.

As well as his cousin, the handsome Machairodus giganteus. Complete with cat balls for accuracy.

And my absolute favorite dirk-tooth, Megantereon cultridens, represented beautifully here. I want this guy so bad. Of course, when would I have time to paint him?

And that's not all.

Check out all his majesty!

Animals were so fucking weird-looking back then!

This has to be one of the best paint jobs I've ever seen. And this is a newly-discovered species, so I'm all over it!

And, this is not a cat, but can I just say Holy Shit I am glad these things are extinct. Take a look at the picture halfway down the page that shows how big they were. Giant pigs scare me.

All of this has gotten me no closer to my word-count, but it has given me a horrible urge to create an army of mutant Megantereon. If I could just find that old chemistry set. . . .

In other NaNews, my main character just picked a hellacious fight with someone else, thus proving that he has no idea what is good for him. He is fighting with The Girl. Now, don't get me wrong. This was slated to happen. But he's going for extra credit by doing it a little bit early. I was afraid I'd have to force the conflict, but apparently not. No, he's more than happy to shoot his mouth off without thinking, probably ruining his chances of scoring with her in this book.

Does it make me a bad person that I am enjoying his suffering more than anything I've enjoyed in weeks?

Does it make me crazy that, when she finally slammed the door in his face, I gave such a nasty cackle that my cat fled for cover, thinking the Pumpkin Suit was coming out?

Work still proceeds. The plot advances by 2,000 words, and with it, the pulpy goodness. We have fermented snail slime, giant bats, man-eating jellyfish trees, six-legged saber-toothed panthers, and giant wasp-mantises infesting the evil analog of Oral Roberts' City of Faith.

Okay. Unless you live in Oklahoma, you are unlikely to take the same cackling, hand-rubbing glee in that last that I do, but, hey. I take my pleasure where I can get it. If I could really infest Oral Roberts "University" with a plague of giant, flesh-eating insects, I would. Because, even though not much actually rhymes with it, justice should still be poetic.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
21,076 / 50,000
(42.1%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
Aren't characters fun?

Some refuse to come out at all. Some take center stage when they were supposed to be in the background. And some, some decide to fight for no dadblame reason.

These two characters have known each other for 300 pages. They become good friends, partners, in the first book. You know, drinking buddies.

Then, the sequel. One year of story-time later, and 50 more pages, and they're snapping at each other left and right.

And I can't tell if I'm pleased that they have their own little rivalry thing going, and are giving each other shit like real friends do, or if I'm annoyed that the dynamic between them is snarkier than it was before, to the point that they are saying and doing things way out of line with what I had expected. A lot of the time, friends play-fight, give each other Hell, and Jackson and Radek are like that, they have great hero/sidekick chemistry. But they got into a for-real shouting match tonight, which I hadn't anticipated.

God help me when they start getting snappy with each other over the girls. It's scripted, they have to get pissy with each other, so it's going to be ugly.

Unless they decide to fuck with me again, and don't have any friction over that at all.

Man, NaNo does interesting things to one's writing style, by which I mean the way one works. Under such pressure, things come out pretty much unvarnished. It's messy and raw and uncontrolled, and utterly, utterly beautiful.

And, having said that, I realized that I've quit thinking this is crap, and have decided I really do believe in it. Which means my estimate was right on when I said that I always think the first 15,000 words of everything are crap.

I scare me sometimes.

. . .

I realize I'm novel-posting a lot, which is something I don't normally do, but this is a rare chance for you to see someone go through the whole process from start to finish in a manageable period of time. I find this sort of thing both fascinating and valuable.

Also, it's eating about five hours out of my day. A lot of my brainpower is going into it. So it's what you get. Be glad you don't live with me. Sargon has had three separate conversations about giant bugs today.

I am headed to bed, since I currently resemble my zombie icon, only with less makeup. Until tomorrow, look upon my word-count meter, ye mighty, and despair.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
14,764 / 50,000
(29.5%)


link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (NaNo Zombie)
Aren't characters fun?

Some refuse to come out at all. Some take center stage when they were supposed to be in the background. And some, some decide to fight for no dadblame reason.

These two characters have known each other for 300 pages. They become good friends, partners, in the first book. You know, drinking buddies.

Then, the sequel. One year of story-time later, and 50 more pages, and they're snapping at each other left and right.

And I can't tell if I'm pleased that they have their own little rivalry thing going, and are giving each other shit like real friends do, or if I'm annoyed that the dynamic between them is snarkier than it was before, to the point that they are saying and doing things way out of line with what I had expected. A lot of the time, friends play-fight, give each other Hell, and Jackson and Radek are like that, they have great hero/sidekick chemistry. But they got into a for-real shouting match tonight, which I hadn't anticipated.

God help me when they start getting snappy with each other over the girls. It's scripted, they have to get pissy with each other, so it's going to be ugly.

Unless they decide to fuck with me again, and don't have any friction over that at all.

Man, NaNo does interesting things to one's writing style, by which I mean the way one works. Under such pressure, things come out pretty much unvarnished. It's messy and raw and uncontrolled, and utterly, utterly beautiful.

And, having said that, I realized that I've quit thinking this is crap, and have decided I really do believe in it. Which means my estimate was right on when I said that I always think the first 15,000 words of everything are crap.

I scare me sometimes.

. . .

I realize I'm novel-posting a lot, which is something I don't normally do, but this is a rare chance for you to see someone go through the whole process from start to finish in a manageable period of time. I find this sort of thing both fascinating and valuable.

Also, it's eating about five hours out of my day. A lot of my brainpower is going into it. So it's what you get. Be glad you don't live with me. Sargon has had three separate conversations about giant bugs today.

I am headed to bed, since I currently resemble my zombie icon, only with less makeup. Until tomorrow, look upon my word-count meter, ye mighty, and despair.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
14,764 / 50,000
(29.5%)


link

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