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I’m back

I took a lot of time off, unexpectedly. Happens I guess. I still have a book to finish, and lots of other ideas to write. Just as an exercise, I wanted to knock out around 500 words, just to see where my creativity levels were. Not terrible. Not sure where I’ll go with this someday, but here it is. Feel free to comment or critique.

Exercise. A dirty word to most people, a habit for some, and to a very few, it was literally life. Maxwell, was a dirty pile of sweat after a grueling daily routine, and he loved it. It kept him fit, it kept him alert, and it kept him alive. Actions repeated over and over until he no longer had to think about them. Pure reflex. Now if only the things he was facing didn't have the ability to kill him at the speed of thought. He could and did mow thru their drones with surprising ease. They were kept stupid and slow on purpose. Well, slow compared to their masters. For most humans, they were a nightmare, that most didn't wake up from. Max called them Craftys, because they seemed similar to the monstrosities that H.P. Lovecraft had thought up over a hundred years ago. Then again, given that these creatures seem positively immortal compared to the tiny amount of years allotted to humans, it's quite possible he stumbled across them and somehow managed to live. It might even be, that the fleeting contact he had with the monstrosities was what partially unhinged him, and led to his almost universal hatred of anything not like him.

Max used to wonder where they came from. Were they some sort of alien with futuristic tech that looked like magic? Or were they actually from a parallel dimension with extraordinary powers that came from some other unknown dimension that humans hadn't found yet, or couldn't even fathom? It's funny how big of an ego that humanity has regarding it's own superiority, when all they have to compare it to, is each other.

"I'm prettier, smarter, richer, better, than that guy or girl."

Yay.

Rip off the top layer and you all look surprisingly alike and act exactly the same in that condition.

Lots of screaming and eventually lots of dying. There were a couple of stories of people surviving the whole being flayed alive thing, but Max had yet to meet any of these super humans. He briefly wondered if that would be yet another notch in their belt of being cooler than the next guy.

"I see you walking around with all of your skin intact, ya pussy. I had all of mine ripped off by a 7 foot monster, and you don't see me bitchin."

Max considered leaving people to their own devices for the hundredth time. Was it really worth it, to keep protecting them? Like any good hero, they didn't know he was out there trying to save their collective asses, why not just go fishing up in the mountains and let things go their natural course? He could grow and kill his own food. Find and clean his own water, and more importantly, brew his own beer, so why did he bother?

Oh that's right, the Craftys and their bosses were assholes.

If they'd been all suave and polite about taking over the world and turning humanity into their slave labor and food source, he probably would have wished them well. But, nooooo, they had to be complete dicks about it.

Excercise

This is a drill. Do not be alarmed.

Or perhaps, you should be petrified. Maybe just plain ol terrified, because how do you know it’s a drill? Because someone told you so? An anonymous, bored sounding voice over a loudspeaker, or maybe out of the tiny speaker on your old tv. But are they bored? Maybe that’s barely controlled panic they’re trying desperately to contain behind the bored, everyday, humdrum voice they’ve used a thousand times to make this same announcement. You never know.

An old shoe box sits on the side of the road. You don’t know how long it’s been there, only that you just noticed it as you drove by. And then you forget about it. And why shouldn’t you? It’s just one more piece of trash on the side of the road, like a thousand others you’ve passed whilst driving. Someone else will pick it up, or maybe the wind will just blow it away on a particularly gusty day. Months go by, and you happen to be walking along that same spot. It’s a nice sunny day, and you’ve committed to getting some extra exercise ever since you had that last checkup and the doctor made worried faces at you and scribbled out a couple of prescriptions for ‘preventative care’. You see that same shoe box, and think to yourself, ‘that’s odd’. It’s rained, snowed, had gale force winds, and who knows how much traffic drive by it, and still it’s here. It’s weather beaten for sure, but you know it’s the same shoe box. Might as well open it, right? Huh, no wonder it didn’t blow away, it has a foot inside of it.

I suck

All the writers that I've read words of wisdom from pretty much all said the same thing. Write, and write alot. Even when you don't feel like it or when you have nothing in your head but the outline and a flashing cursor. You'll probably produce a mountain of crap from which you can extract a few pebbles o awesome. I'm really really hoping for the latter part because right now, all I see on the page is the mountain. And instead of being majestic, it's completely craptastic. I think im going to have to utilize the delete button sooner rather than later, since I've derailed from my outline and I'm writing stuff out of order that doesn't even make sense in it's raw form. This sucks. I was so proud of myself for passing 25k, but this is beyond garbage. Delete, delete, and try again.

Losing momentum

Well, I’m at that point where I lose steam. It’s happened every time before that I can remember. Basically, I’m at that point in the story where I’m relating daily life, so that one can identify with the characters. And I hate that point. I find it terribly B O R I N G. Daily life is stupid. it’s what happens while we’re waiting for all the frantic parts, both good and bad. At this point in my life, when I’m reading other people’s stuff, I tend to skim this part. Which is probably a terrible thing, but sue me. In an effort to put myself back on track, I downloaded Stephen King’s On writing, a memoir of the craft. I think it’s helping. If nothing else it makes me want to keep going. To just slog through what I consider the slow crap, so I can get to the more fun stuff. You know, like brains being bashed in, and people being set on fire. That kinda fun stuff.

Working out before writing

I saw several posts and videos about how it's a good idea to workout regularly to keep the blood flowing and stimulate endorphins to spark creativity. I submit that those people did a mosey on the treadmill or a Sunday walk and considered that working out. Cause I just got back from the gym and all I want to do is throwup and go back to bed.

Somebody jinxed me

I was happy. Writing my 10 page chapters, and then somebody said, 'my chapters just get longer and longer, and I insisted that I could keep mine short. And then came my next chapter, and after 16 pages, I realized I was only halfway thru the plot point on my outline. So, I ended the chapter at a close point and picked it back up again in the next chapter. Most annoying. I did pass 19k on the word count, and should hit 20+ on Sunday. I know Friday and Saturday are most likely off days based on work schedule and beer consumption, but we'll see.

15,000

Well, I finally hit 15,000 words. What does this mean? Nothing in the grand scheme of things, I’m aiming for around 85,000, which should be around 250 pages?. For the first draft anyway. After editing, it would be super, if I could hit 350 pages or so. That seems like a solid effort. I’ve read books that were 250, and enjoyed them thoroughly, but I just feel like that for me, 350 is a good middle ground. Cause, you know. I’m special n shit.

Beer is not my friend

While this is not entirely true, beer really hampers my motivation, cause it really makes me tired. I don't know how Stephen King wrote as much as he did when he was downing cases of the cheap stuff. Now whiskey, on the other hand, doesn't seem to hamper me at all. I shall have to ponder this as I finish my beer. Hopefully, I get some words on the page as well.

Alright, I sucked it up, and pushed through. It's still really weird that I don't know exactly what's going to appear on the page.

Meh

Alright, the weekend took some of the wind out of my sails. I planned to write a ton and that didn't happen. Basically, when I have actually time off, I want to be out doing stuff rather than staring at a computer screen. And once you lose momentum........

Tired

I’ve just discovered that trying to write when you’re tired is REALLY hard. I’ve been staring at the page for about an hour now, and I think I’ve typed 4 whole sentences. Pretty sure I’m not going to hit my word count for today, but I have most of tomorrow off, so I should be able to make it up. I’m approaching 12,000 words, and realized that this is the most I’ve written continuously since high-school. Kinda surreal. Anyway, time to go back to killing trolls in an interesting manner.

#tiredwriting

Thursday

Well, last night was fairly productive. Hit the thousand I was aiming for, but didn't make up the lost ground from Wednesday. The writing seemed to take on a life of its own last night, but I managed to keep it constrained to the outline. I was making things up on the fly and creating without a preconceived notion of what I wanted to put on the page. Kinda cool, but we'll see how it sounds when I look back at it in a couple/few months. Plus, in writing the stuff I did last night, I kinda set rules up that I'm going to have to keep in mind when addressing the magical creatures in the future. Jesus, this is getting complex.......

#firsttimewriting #notmyfirsttimebutthistimeimgoingtofinish

Reality vs made up stuff

I discovered last night that setting my story in the here and now is harder than I thought. Mostly because when I'm making stuff up, I don't have to stop and wonder if it matches reality. Geography, geology, weather, etc. Do I have to make it match, no, but then why set it here at all? For me, it gives a frame of reference that makes it easier for the reader to immerse themselves in the story.

First entry

Well, apparently I can talk about anything I want here. Mostly I'll be concentrating on trying to finish my first go at writing a book. But in an effort to not be completely boring, I'll cover other stuff as well. And as I figure out how to actually use tumblr, hopefully I can make my posts more colorful. Literally. Right now, I'll state that writing foundation stuff is hard. Mostly because I'm impatient. Even when I'm trying to read other people's work, I find myself skipping over paragraphs and sometimes whole pages trying to just get to the 'important' stuff. I need to slow down. Enjoy the roses and all that.

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