#sapfc

[lazyeye]

updated my theme, theme now be k.achou w/a m.aid s.ama!!! last theme was yakumo family

[intempesta-nox]

Enamored of each other and each too shy to admit it, they did the next best thing: Started a band that very day. She (she being Vigil) played the piano whose sound he now knew like his own heartbeat, a toy piano he recognized in passing, and a violin more scar tissue than f-hole or body. As for himself, Lantom played the accordion that brought her to him, a stand-up bass that kept her there, a set of drums they found in an alley - left in favor of a better and younger lover, no doubt. They called themselves The Bay Harbor Butchers and started out, as all artists in Ceasefire must, busking on the streets of the Art District.   Their particular brand of noise-making would be likened to several incongruous and abstract ideals rather than sorted into the confines of genre: A BANSHEE'S ADVANCE WARNING - THE DEATH OF A DISTANT O'GRADY; A HALE OF GUNFIRE; 9 MISSED CALLS AND A LAST, FRANTIC MESSAGE; A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL; MOONLIGHT AND SALT WATER; A 7-CAR PILEUP; and FOLIE Á DEUX the most common among them.

an excerpt from SAY A PRAYER FOR CALIFORNIA: ALL BABES ARE WOLVES, by G. Grieving

[astoldfromtheend]

NaNo 2k16 - DAY ONE

[This is the direct sequel to last year's rewritten project, NOTIONS OF A REVOLUTION; narrated by that story's secondary character. See this post for the inaugural whining sesh.]

SUGGESTED DAILY WORD COUNT: 1,667 ACTUAL DAILY WORD COUNT: 1,793 EXPECTED CUMULATIVE WORD COUNT: 1,667 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 1,793/50,000 WORD SURPLUS? +126

FAVORITE LINE OF THE DAY: The Bureau is keeping secrets from you. This is a given - this is how any government worth its salt shows its love.

[ofthemagnolias]

A first glimpse at our antihero, as seen in SAY A PRAYER FOR CALIFORNIA, BOOK I: NOTIONS OF A REVOLUTION. #gashgallows #sapfc #noar #goodbodygrieving #goodgrief

[ofthemagnolias]

An excerpt from "All Babes Are Wolves," of my upcoming series SAY A PRAYER FOR CALIFORNIA. #sapfc #abaw #excerpt #goodbodygrieving #goodgrief

[astoldfromtheend]

Navelgazing, Edition 3.

I've been stuck on my book for the last few days, having trouble linking thought o sentence to fiction. Then I read about the Charleston shooting and, strangely, how my favorite artist's best friend mighty last be losing to cancer and how it's tearing her apart on what should be one of her happiest days. And I remembered. I have to keep going. Art is the only thing in this world that's honest, the only thing that makes sense, the only thing I have. I have something to say, and so I have to keep going. I have to keep going. -Goodbody

[astoldfromtheend]

File Under: Things I'm Going To Hell For Making My Characters Say

"I don't wanna interrupt your origin story here, Jesus, but can we skip the manger and cut right to the 18 years ya spent on the lam? Jazz it up, man. Gimme some New Testament, like, a high speed chariot chase - if at all possible, I don't wanna tell you how to speak your gospel or nothin' - but speed it the fuck up for the sake of my eensy-weensy attention span? Please and thanks."

[astoldfromtheend]

As of this moment I'm 15,815 words into Say A Prayer for California.

So far, here’s one of my favorite parts:

See, when the Particle Wars jumped off between Russia and Japan, everybody knew it was gonna be a bad one. Within a month they were talkin’ World War, capital letters and all, and Allied countries either joined or protested one by one, so fast the UN couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.

(Side note: it bears mentionin’ that America was one of the last to pick a side, ‘cause as a country we ain’t never been on time to a party we ain’t throwin’ - at somebody else’s house, mind you - if you catch my drift.)

Anyway, this was around the time our government started registerin’ citizens - I don’t mean a vague estimate via census and legal records, I mean names on a list and sub dermal microchips.

They said (after declarin’ it mandatory for all livin’ US citizens regardless of age) it was so if ya died on foreign soil or in battle - or in the street like a fuckin’ dog, which was more often than not - a machine somewhere would ping and light up a screen with your name, location, time of death, favorite color, the whole nine yards. Cause of death, too, if your family was real lucky.

No more unknown soldiers, they said.

That’s what they said. What they meant was we’re lowerin’ the draft age to 16, and now we’ll know the exact second your kids are ready to be broken down for parts and put on the assembly line.

You can see now how findin’ out Helena was pregnant in August of 2000 after 10 solid years of tryin’ for a kid wasn’t the victory the Gallowses always thought it would be.