The Shiny New Shit

I've been pondering new projects, partly because I will soon finish the first draft of The Last Captain, and partly because I will soon finish the first draft of The Last Captain.

"What's that?" you say.

Simply put: my mind, like that of most people, prefers to shy from hard thought and go with what's easy, shiny, and new. Writing openings is easy. Tying it all together for a coherent ending is fucking hard.

At any rate, I gave into the whispers in my head this morning, and wrote this little bit of dialogue, for a piece I am tentatively calling Confessions of a Necromancer:

“Not everything you see before you always was,” Ebenezer confided to me the first time he had me strapped to his table.

Being gagged as well as bound, I couldn’t very well reply.

As a natural byproduct of being constantly surrounded by the mindless dead, he had the ability to carry on a conversation without a partner. So it was that my silence didn't deter him from speaking at all, “You see, once I was a golden boy like you, walking in the light of the gods and basking in the adoration of women fair and foul.”

I shook my head, more in fear of the bonesaw he’d picked up in one delicate, bone-white hand than denial of his unlikely tale.

.......

Hopefully writing their mutterings out will allow me to get on with The Last Captain

What the ?

I once had a gay friend of mine chuckle and tell me, "What, you were surprised when he dropped that purse out of his mouth?"

I had been surprised when the burly, manly fellow before me had said, in a high, girly voice, "Oh mYYY GAAAWD, Look at his butt!"

I will always remember the expression my friend used, for it seems to me a pitch-perfect description of what I had observed.

What the fuck, over? Is another rather good expression, but imprecise by comparison.

Both apply to this, rather odd video:

Jane's Announces New Armament Assessment: From the Wardrobe

Many articles of clothing can be weaponized, and your humble, intrepid writer does not claim to have run down all the potential weaponized clothing that might be brought from the depths of a wardrobe, but rather hopes to open a dialogue regarding this under-developed weapons market:

The Slock: A sock with a heavy metal object inside, most often a lock. Used to bludgeon an opponent. Not to be confused with the soapock, consisting of a sock loaded with soap bar to encourage good unit integrity.

Laces: For the discerning creep that wants to sneek up on a mothufucka! For extra specialness: tie a knot in em and pop the larynx so there'll be no screaming.

Crappy drawers: Underwear that has been allowed to collect quite a bit of the ick that often accumulates in such garments. This tends to be a slow-acting biological weapon unless used in two manners, both of which are forbidden by the Geneva Convention: Drawers taken from an enchilada-and-beer-binge eater, as well as those containing even a limited amount of crap placed over the head of an opponent.

Thong: Sometimes used by strippers to immasculate men who had the temerity to think they were about to get sexed in the champaign room. Not to be confused with Laces, above, this weapon has occasionally seen a narrow application in combination with Crappy Drawers, above.

Stilettos: Fierce weapon when properly wielded. It is suggested that you run away, as it is unlikely that a barefoot stiletto-wielder will be able to keep up.

Stripper Shoes: Not to be confused with the lighter and less lethal sister-weapon system, stilettos, Stripper Shoes have a heavy sole that can drive the spiked heel through the skull of zombies, and we all know how thickheaded the undead can be. Reversed, the raised sole is an excellent warhammer

The Boulder Holder: Whether used as a slock-launcher or more general catapult, the lethality of this weapon is based entirely on the cup size, up to the head-sized breast, after which elasiticity is sacrificed for support, causing a decline in efficiency.

The Stank: Any clothing article can be modified to perform, though gym-shorts, leotards, sweatsocks, granny-panties, and sweatsuits are the preferred chassis. The weapon is also slow acting, and generally considered an underperformer when unleashed against the unwashed. Increased performance has been documented when the article of clothing forming the chassis is taken from a heavily stressed large mammal on a limited excercise regimen that drove 200+ miles without AC in the Southern California Sun.

My Hopes, Dashed

I had hoped, somehow, that the general level of attentiveness and intelligence would climb while I was away from work.

My hopes, dashed.

Failing that, I hoped that people would at least make an effort to leave their stupid at home, at least once or twice a week.

My hopes, dashed.

My penultimate hope was that the users of the court would learn to be civil in my absence.

My hopes, dashed.

My final hope for my return from vacation was that I would re-charge my drained patience for all the bullshit and mouth-breathing morons I am forced to observe daily.



My hopes, somewhat dashed... I am writing this, so my gorilla was a bit excercised, but then I'm not really ranting today. More of a lament, this. I might even have to ask for some cheese with my whine.

Last Day...

Last day of Vacation, tomorrow a return to the stank...and fuel for the occasional rant.

For now, writing my ass off and trying to recover from yesterday's sunburn.

A bit of music to tide you over:

WoooHoooo!

Finished the combat climax tonight, and damn, but I think it works!  Like a shotgun blast near the head: it's loud, fierce, yet likely to be found a positive experience, given that it didn't take your head off!

Tomorrow, the true climax! Many secrets await revelation, and some characters will have their worlds destroyed. Muhahahahahah!

Damn, but I feel good! If my eyes weren't burning from the chlorine, and my skin from the excess solar radiation I soaked up today, I'd be hammering away at the next section too.

Writing Music and Videos

Some music I crank while cranking pages:

Breaking 9o,ooo Words

Just some catching up:

Finally, finally nearing the end of the climax of The Last Captain.  Lots o' blood bein' spilt, and humpty dumpty won't ever be put back together again, at least until the sequel, and then he won't be recognizable.



Talked to one of my buddies from Geneva today, and he had some solid points to make about the early draft.  He picked up on the some of the character's flaws and foibles, which is a very hopeful thing. It is nice to know my attempts at clever reveals for some of the reasons my characters act as they do, are being read as flaws of the character, rather than flaws in the writing.

I'm very happy to be off today, my wife's birthday.  She liked her gifts and cards, and is in for a suprise tonight.

Under The Milky Way...

One of my favorite songs to write and ride to, it makes me very thoughful, and a bit melancholy, but in a good way:

My, Just When You Thought The Economy Might Be Turning Around-

It seems the economy is bad everywhere, even in the normally recession-proof prison system:


Prison Economy Spirals As Price Of Pack Of Cigarettes Exceeds Two Hand Jobs

Whatever shall we do?

Urban Style, Explained

Thppt!

This morning I'm burping fish oil. Not pleasant.

I am mortally tired of work. More accurately, I am tired of the people who come to my work and refuse to believe that someone who works here might know what the fuck they are doing.

Taking three days off next week, in the hopes of recharging the work battery.

On a positive note, I am writing well and often.

& I Thought I Was The Only Troll H8tr Out There...

This is a very fun, very accurate read of this aspect of internet behavior:


Trolls

The Perils of Humor In Law Enforcement

The case mentioned in the video below has been a horrible, horrible thing that has deprived some fine officers of their good names and embittered others.

We are human. We have a need to release some of the pain and pressure we experience. Some of the video appears racist, sexist, and homophobic. But who has not gone a little far into those realms to tell in-jokes meant to entertain a brother or sister?

The officers of that station needed cheering that year: In the months prior one officer was gravely wounded and his partner expired in the arms of his co-workers.

They were gunned down by a gangster with an AK-47. To add salt to the wound, the DA refused to seek the death penalty. It is a hard thing, in this day and age, to be politically correct and still feel for the public, who thinks us either too robotic, or too angry.

The best that can be said about this is that it's almost over. Most of my friends that were invloved already took deals and are trying to get on with their careers.

And...

Yesterday I was speaking to a friend of mine about The Last Captain. Some time ago I had asked him to give it a read and tell me what he thought. He's a very busy, very thorough man, the book isn't done, and it's not his cup of tea, so it took him a bit to finish.

He did, however, finish what I had sent him.

He called me, and we talked for about an hour about it. He was patient and insistent on all the right errors I had made. Mostly having to do characterizations and pay-offs for their story arcs. He quite accurately led me to understand why I was having trouble finishing even the first draft of the work.

At about the fiftieth minute of the conversation, the light flicked on in my tiny mindspace, and the maze of the plot was rendered a straight line leading to an end-point I truly believe will be a bit different, but understandable, even enjoyable...

My relief was palpable, even quantifiable: I wrote about 3ooo words after I got off the phone.

Some tiny issues of timing remain, but they are not insurmountable, and I see myself finishing the first draft by the end of September at the latest.

Gee, But I Do Need My Friends

Battery charged and writing beast motivated, thanks to my friends:

RobN for his email last week and RobH with his call today! God, but the writing room of my mind isn't as dark as it has been for the last two months.

Thanks so very much!

What I Did About My Previous Question

There is more build up to this section, but I hope it stands well on its own.

Please feel free to comment:



Myrna’s fear spiked as the sounds from the room behind her stopped. Her dread built for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only moments. Waiting in the darkness, she had determined to fight the only way she knew how, but when the door behind her finally ground open on rusted runners she had quite reached a peak of fear, and couldn’t regain the composure she needed to find the mental escape of her training.

She could hear a man breathing, even over her own elevated respiration. Myrna repeatedly checked the urge to try and turn to face her captor. If she knew a face, they would be less likely to let her live.

Another lengthy, agonizing wait, the only sound their shared breathing.

“You’re quite the specimen, Miss Graves,” her captor said, now very close. She hadn’t heard his approach, but Myrna recognized the voice of the man who’d drugged her. While his appreciation of her naked body was no surprise, the clinical detachment of his tone was more frightening than anything he might have said. His voice held none of the lust that Yusuf and her other paramours tried to suppress during their games.

“What, no response?”

Not knowing what to do, and the gag preventing any coherent speech, she writhed in helpless fear.

His voice was very close now, “Myrna, Myrna, I don’t want to fuck you, I just want you to confirm a few things for me.”

“Iwelmpwnyting,” Myrna said, desperate for him to know she would tell him anything and everything.

He ignored her words, running a finger along the flesh of her upper arm and down along her ribcage to her waist.

She jumped at the contact, nearly wet herself.

He withdrew the touch, “Such firm resistance, from a plaything such as yourself? I hadn’t thought you would offer any.”

“Nrmph,” she tried to tell him, the denial turning to a wordless scream as he cut her.

Should I Go Graphic Or?

The Last Captain has some pretty intense stuff coming up, and I'm wondering if I should actually write the male torturing a female scene out or gloss over it. I think it might build and develop the torturer quite a bit. We already know he's an evil fucker, but this might assist in developing the creep factor.

The torture victim is no saint, either. Indeed, she's quite the gold-digger, though she has her very legitimate reasons.

On the fence on this one, but I'm gonna write it anyway, just to get it out. I'l decide later on whether to keep it or not.

Just so you know, the novel is already rated R for the violence and language, if nothing else.

Any thoughts, readers? It would be helpful to have your feedback.

Thanks, in advance.

Gettin' On It

I'm getting some writing done, so you'll forgive me for keeping this almost a one-liner.

The Midnight Beast

Running through YouTube, and found The Midnight Beast, a terrifying combination of music, physical comedy and scatalogic commentary.

Danger! Danger! Warning! Very Politically Incorrect:



And still more:



Careful, they're ninjas. Don't want any shit in your car, now, do you?

Another Set of Signs I Have Great Friends

Got an email from a buddy last night. He's read through much of The Last Captain and had some great feedback. I needed the kick in the ass his letter gave me, not because he had lots of corrections, but because he was on it, doing exactly what I'd asked; finding those consistency errors. What's more, he was enthusiastic about the story and characters. This was quite a relief to me, and while the book isn't done, it has renewed my enthusiasm for it.

Then, this morning, I had an email from another friend, this one inviting me to a meal at one of the nation's finest restaraunts. Arriving out of the blue, as it did, I was suprised and very pleased at the invite. My reply was coarse and tongue-in-cheek, but the insecure writer in me couldn't just accept without trying to cover how very touched I am to be invited to dine with him.

As I've said before, I have greater friends than I deserve.

Well Now, Isn't That Special

I might have ranted about the court session today, but can't get the anger sharks to swim. Got some free time at work today, so the electrons shall begin to flow...

Please enjoy this light interlude:

Worthy Causes, Wondrous Worlds

My friend, Mark Van Name, has done a very special thing: He is donating all the profits from his book, Children No More to Falling Whistles, an organization dedicated to trying to save children from being forced to become child soldiers. Please, if you have a moment, try and hit these sites, and if you have a bit of coin to spare, buy the book or donate directly to Falling Whistles.

Robot Chicken Star Wars: Death Star Orientation - Adult Swim (Official)

Monday, Made Better!

Can't seem to get my outlook to improve today. I'm tired, work looks to be long and annoying, and I still haven't had word from the one person who can cover me for a requested vacation I asked for a couple weeks ago.

I just need a break from the grind...I'll escape into writing, if we have any significant breaks today...


Otherwise, it's LEGO RAMMSTEIN!!!



Oh YES, THERE'S MORE!

Tired, and Not Much To Say....

...So I'll just leave you with this bit of hilarity:

A Snippet From The Last Captain

“Hey, Venkman!”

Baptiste looked up from the report writing terminal, exhaustion robbing him of any real interest. Report writing was the one thing they always avoided showing in the dramas, and he knew exactly why. The partners had been at it for four hours, and had about two more to go before they’d fully documented the incident.

The interviews had taken the longest. Not because the actual interview had taken long, but because of all the different pukes that had to be called up to participate.

“What?” Venkman answered, more short than he normally would. He didn’t look all that tired, but the noises his gut had been making for the last hour or so had been keeping Baptiste awake at his terminal. The big guy’s blood sugar was probably running low.

“Nothing, just heard you had quite the day.”

If this were a purely local matter, Venkman would have been off for the next few days on administrative leave while everyone who had not been there second-guessed his every action and dissected a situation most had never been in. Then they would come back and interview him again in light of any ‘evidence’ that they though important and believed wasn’t included in the report.

It was only IMP involvement in the case that was keeping Venkman on the streets. The internal investigation of the incident would likely take a few more days, but Baptiste knew his partner would be found to be acting within policy.

“Yeah, Delacroix, I had quite the day. What are you doing here so early? I thought you were still midnights,” Venkman said.

“Overtime, brother. Someone’s gotta keep the lid on while you are out fighting the enemies of the Imperium.”

Venkman laughed, a little louder and harder than the weak joke warranted, but if he was at all close to being as tired as Bap felt, he was entitled to be a bit slap-happy.

Delacroix clapped the big man on the shoulder and walked out.

Bap looked at the terminal, sighed, and asked of no one in particular, “When will it end?”

“What, reports?”

Baptiste nodded.

“Well, when we’re dead, they’ll have to do some cleaning up and a final filing, but I think that might be an end to it, at least for us.”

“Might?”

“Nothing in life is certain but death and taxes.”

Steady On!

Need to keep the ink flowing on the novel...


Here, to tide you over:



I love the crunch on the White's work, and would have liked to have put Old Enough up, but was denied.

The Coolness

I have nothing to complain about, today.

Or rather, I would just be whining if I were to complain today. Instead I think I'll just fuckin' write.

All is right with the world.

My parents, like my daughter and wife, are the best of people, and I don't deserve them.

An Attic Of The Mind, & The Spiders That Dwell Therein

I have a need, a need for something to blow the bullshit out of the attic of my brain. Musty in here. Is that a bloody cobweb? Rat-droppings? Gorilla hair?

It's there: that old, open album of photos that has seen one too many days in the sole beam of sunlight that pentrates the leaky roof of my brainbucket. In it are images I want, no, must get out, but I can only seem to work around the edges, trying to save each picture entire, even as uncertainty spreads in my gut like bad seafood.

Jeez, but writing it right is hard.

So much easier to learn about the effects of drugs on spiders:



Be sure to watch it all the way through... Extremely educational...

Consistency Errors: Reason 1 To Bang Your Head!

Been having a few consistency errors, or rather, I live in fear of them as I write the denoument and climax of The Last Captain... I hope people like it, I really do. At a minimum, I hope my mad pursuit of uncooperative characters hasn't rendered it unreadable.

And Now For Something Completely Different

I thought to beg my readers to become followers after I chose my title for tonight, so you'll please forgive me. Indeed, my sycophancy has no limits, and, like the man jerking off before the crowd and crying, "Love me!" I would greatly appreciate it if I were to be made aware of the size of the crowd observing my weekday mental masturbation.

If you have a google account, please do sign in as a follower. If you don't have a google account, what is wrong with you? I mean, it's only logging into Big Brother and signing over the blood of your firstborn.

I have been using Google Analytics, which is a wondrous program for showing numbers of the people reading my scribbles... And from where, but it does not identify them closer than the city they reside in.

Facebook is the driving force behind most of my readership, it seems: Friends and relations from the days of my youth, checking in and sometimes reading a bit of the weirdness that lives in my skull and dribbles on the screen...

If you are already a follower, you are among the first, and shall be rewarded here, not in the hereafter. Those fifteen shall be the recipients of something nice, I swear it...
Just not yet...
Not yet...