Thursday, October 25, 2007

Possibly great idea vs. my own morality

Last night I had a great idea for a book. Actually, it's not a new idea, just one I found myself revisiting. Again. The story is ripe for the picking.

What's important to know, and really the entire issue, is that one of the main characters is loosely based on a woman I met online and is, thankfully, no longer part of my life.

Giving more thought to the ideas I had last night, I jotted down some notes this morning. I think this could work. Yes, it would be a rather unconventional book and chances of it ever being snuggled by a publisher would be slim at best. I realize that. I've tumbled this around in my head most of the night (sometimes sleepless nights are great) looking at it from all sorts of angles.

I also realize that it would be fairly therapeutic and educational for me, too. Therapeutic in that if I dedicate 50,000+ words to the bitch she'll finally be out of my system and I can shrug off the unease I feel any time I run into her on the internet, because I'm finding that she's everyfuckingwhere and it's driving me batty with the "can't go there, she's there and it'll cause problems" thoughts. It would be educational in that it would get me (1) plotting (because I absolutely SUCK at plotting) and (2) focused on something larger than a few thousand words. I'm sure there's more, but those are the highlights.

But it would also be extremely petty and even a bit vindictive of me to follow through with this idea, and that bothers me. The thought that I'm actually considering doing it bothers me. She's nothing to me, and yet she has managed to shove parts of my life into a blender, push the frappe button and then leave the damned thing running while she storms out in a tissy screaming about how evil I am. She's a highly destructive force of --

Of what? Energy? Maybe. I'm not sure what the most accurate word would be.

She's a petty, manipulative, destructive, self-centered, lying bitch. But does that give me the right to mock her in a story? Granted, such people often don't deserve the consideration or generosity (let alone compassion) of others, but if I did it -- if I wrote this book -- what would that make me?

Interestingly enough, my "tarot card of the day" is Justice.


This Deck: Morgan-Greer

General Meaning: Traditionally, what has been known as the Justice card has to do with moral sensitivity and that which gives rise to empathy, compassion and a sense of fairness. Since the time of Solomon, this image has represented a standard for the humane and fair-minded treatment of other beings.

Often including the image of a fulcrum which helps to balance competing needs against the greater good, and a two-edged sword to symbolize the precision needed to make clear judgments, this card reminds us to be careful to attend to important details. It's a mistake to overlook or minimize anything where this card is concerned. The law of Karma is represented here -- what goes around comes around.

I think this deserves further thought. But not right now. I have more important things to do at the moment.

Oct. 23 - 100 words

I can’t sit in my current desk chair for more than 10-15 minutes before my ass starts going numb and my legs start aching. The damnable thing is also causing all sorts of havoc with the muscles in my neck, shoulders, and back because of the lack of support. At this point, I would rather clean than sit at the computer and write. And so I clean. I actively watch tv. I cook. I do anything and everything I possibly can that will keep me out of this nefarious torture device dug up from some dungeon in the Middle Ages.

Oct. 22 - 100 words

gun fire Seoul cathedral stained glass rock hoop earring conch shell liquor store acne grass chocolate brownies casino desert lake map cave painting treasure bee chest stars column seal newscast blazer ugly paint bikini beach football picture practice chain link fence hall double standard flag therapy green plaid oil boulder bakery clothespin handcuffs concussion rottweiler archeology dig soil samples body decomposition mercury murder Santa Anna Winds hurricane lightning ice storm moron stupid ass library reckless patch beard piglets stabbed ghost spirit raw meat cow button box tracker oil wax sucker bears missile lava play hard grain whiskey kite explosion hat

Oct. 21 - 100 words

pink satin tile wood motorcycle brunette green coffee codex winter snow full moon cow camera waterfall canyon laptop black and white film hot rod kittens oak tree large kitchen tile floor platypus venom fire glass doors rosary peacock feathers priest assassin seaweed brownies eyeball cookies glow stick shower cobalt silver skull pain glasses leather jacket horse race hunting desert salt mine monkey bridge cable spoon shattered glass razor cards angel demon woodpecker cigarette massage shark green beret mime scarf pumpkin vertigo daisy elephant bells dragon cave pendant brick copper orange muscle car club scissors frog umbrella sword emerald denim boots

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Oct. 20 - 100 words

The problem I’m having with the one hundred words a day is that I’m treating it as a separate assignment, and it really shouldn’t be. I suppose that sometimes it could or should be, but not all the time.

What I need to do is shift my focus from “write one hundred words a day and have it make some sort of sense” to “pound out two thousand or so words a day and throw out a random excerpt of exactly one hundred words”.

Or, you know, I could just write the first one hundred words that come to mind.

Oct. 19 - 100 words

Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry, go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses.

Dia yelled and bolted upright in bed, frantically clawing at the sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his body. With large hands balled and ready for a fight, he looked around for someone to hit and blinked in confusion when he found no one.

The flashing red neon sign over the twenty-four hour porn shop across the street lit the tiny room and cut through Dia’s confusion.

Breathing raggedly, Dia slowly rubbed away the sweat beaded on his brow. “Damned nightmares.”

Thursday, October 18, 2007

I should be cooking writing.

Last night I was talking to someone about Holly and he commented that he didn’t think he’d ever met her. Because it’s often easier to hand over a profile sheet on a character than it is to explain the character, I started digging for Holly’s profile. After about an hour of hunting through the computer, various disks (those are some ancient records), my filing cabinet, and several different notebooks, I realized that there is no working profile on her. I used to have one, but it’s been eaten by some computer critter or another over the years. Or maybe she’s been in hiding and covered her tracks really well. (Sometimes the characters hide from me.) However, since she’s pushing her way to the foreground again, I need a profile and there’s not one. I’m going to have to recreate her from memory.

This got me thinking that I don’t have any profiles on any of my characters. Not really. What’s in my head is pretty much it. This is a bad thing. A very, very bad thing. I need to find (or create) some sort of formulaic profile sheet and start filling in the blanks on all the characters I have in my head. (This will also give me something to work off of when I sit down with each of them for interviews and evaluations over tea and Twizzlers.) Ideally, this would be done on the computer then backed up (twice) and printed. Sadly, this is not an ideal world and I haven’t got the first clue how it’ll actually turn out.

Good thing I’m creative. Or so they tell me.


Ophelia’s book is kicking my ass. The reason the progress bar has been reset to zero is that I’ve stripped the prologue and redressed it multiple times in the past few weeks, and now I’m thinking it shouldn’t be a prologue at all, but rather the beginning of the first chapter which means that I need to rethink the entire timeline of the story and rewrite the beginning yet again and Ophelia keeps insisting that the whole story line is “just wrong” and demanding that I “fix it”. (*BREATHE*) It doesn’t help that I’m no longer sure WHO is in the book, either. Again we have a rather pressing need for working profile sheets and bio-jackets on everyone.


I still don’t have a plot for NaNo. Or characters. Or anything else.

Ophelia has let me know in no uncertain terms that she will not have any part of NaNo. She’s an unruly character that way, and I don’t think she can be bribed.

Maybe that’s why Holly is reemerging. Maybe HER story will be my NaNo project.

I’ll have to think about this.

Oct. 18 - 100 words

Our lease is due the middle of 2008 so we’re casually looking at houses. I don’t think my requirements are too unreasonable.

*Three bedrooms, two bathrooms. A garage would be great but not mandatory.
*The front door MUST be on the front of the house, not on the side.
*No lakes, ponds, rivers, or other natural bodies of water adjacent to the property.
*Covered front porches are good. Small tunnels are not.
*Must have space between the houses. If I can stand between two houses and touch both of them with a broom without taking a step, they’re too close.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Oct. 17 - 100 words

Lexie took a step forward and Max grabbed her arm to stop her. She looked at him questioningly and he glanced at the fray again, keeping his voice low. “The attackers are under demonic control. Probably looking for us. They’ll fight until they’re recalled or dead. We need to go around.”

Lexie shrugged out of her jacket, leaving it in Max’s hand when she stepped forward again. “They’re innocent, Max, and they’re not fighters.”

Max shook his head. “You can’t help them, Ophelia.”

She moved away from him quickly and glanced over her shoulder with a cold smile. “Wanna bet?”

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Oct. 16 - 100 words

The idea of not writing is repugnant to me. It’s one of the few interests I haven’t given up for one reason or another over the years. Yet here I am, sitting in the dark and considering doing just that.

When it comes to choosing between keeping the peace within one’s family and pursuing one’s dreams, it’s a double-edged sword situation. No matter what choice is made, it’s bound to be the wrong one. Or maybe it’ll be the right one, but with painful backlash.

Give up my family or give up my writing. It seems I can’t have both.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Oct. 15 - 100 words

I started the scene with Holly yesterday but never finished it. I got distracted. Not by the deadly beauty taking a shower by the eerie glow of a glow stick in a grimy bathroom in some abandoned building, but by the guy watching her. The guy she couldn’t see despite feeling his gaze on her time and time again, even in the shower stall as she washed off a few days worth of her own personal funk. The guy she couldn’t see because he was not there.

Who is this guy? What is this guy? Why couldn’t she see him?

Oct. 14 - 100 words

Holly let the water run while she hung the glow stick over the shower nozzle. She was surprised the water still ran but had no hope that it would ever get hot. Maybe it would run clearer with the time, though. She pulled the chain that activated the shower head and after a few minutes Holly left her clothes piled on the dirty floor.

Holly gasped when the hot water sprayed over her. She didn’t question the how of the heat, only said a small prayer of gratitude. The yellow-green light of the glow stick gave the grimy shower walls…

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Oct. 13 - 100 words

Deirdre squinted hard at the walls moving closer together. Earlier she’d dismissed the idea as the onset of claustrophobia but now she could definitely see the walls creeping toward her. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead and a shiver crawled up her spine. Deirdre swallowed down the rising screams and bile. She didn’t want to die locked in some dark room by herself.

Shaking herself out of her panic, she searched the shrinking room again. The flickering flame of the candle made her move slower than she wanted, but she had no choice with only four matches left.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Oct. 12 - 100 words

Yeah, I have nothing tonight.

While my mother slept on my couch today (don’t ask) I turned my thoughts to Ophelia’s butterflies again. It’s a troublesome element for me. I need to explain them because undoubtedly someone will question them. Besides, it’s just proper to explain such oddities. An author can’t just throw something like Ophelia’s butterflies out into a story with no explanation. I know I wouldn’t accept it in a book I was reading, so I wouldn’t expect anyone reading my book to accept it.

But how to explain the critters? Genetic engineering? Magic? A little of both?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Oct. 11 - 100 words

I understand the cops doing what they did. They ain’t got an easy job sometimes, but they shouldn’t have arrested me in front of my girls. Not in front of my girls. You gotta show respect for a person’s family, ‘specially when there’s kids lookin’ on. It’s like with what I did. I loved my man right, but my man was someone else’s man; I didn’t want that. So I had to fix things and show my girls you don’t let folks use you like that. He disrespected our family with that boy and I had to show my girls…

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Oct. 10 - 100 words

So here’s something I didn’t know.

Platypuses make poison. A venom, to be exact. Only the males produce this venom and they squirt it from the spurs on their back legs – on their ankles -- while fighting off other males during the mating season. Sadly, it’s not lethal to humans but can cause excruciating pain. Swelling occurs quickly around the injection site and gradually spreads throughout the affected limb. From there it seems to develop into a long-lasting extreme sensitivity to pain (hyperalgesia) that can last for days and even months.

I have to figure out how to use this.

Oct. 9 - 100 words

Ophelia and Leonard watched the body rise.

Leonard tsked. "I don’t mind the killin’. We used to kill’em, too, but back in those days--"

“Back in those days what?!” Ophelia glared at the old man. “And don’t you dare say something stupid like ‘when we killed a guy, the guy stayed dead’. If you do, I swear by all that’s holy and not...” She trailed off, shaking her head. Threatening old men now?

Leonard rubbed a leathery hand over his wrinkled cheek. “Well they did, missy. And another thing, we showed respect for our elders back in those days, too!”

Monday, October 8, 2007

Oct. 8 - 100 words

hot steamy passionate slippery sticky sweaty thick solid hard soft gentle tender wet electrifying orgasmic touch lick pound suck pinch nuzzle cuddle fondle nibble taste stroke squeeze twist paddle belt swallow whip chains clamps cane strike swat nip bite scratch claw blindfold caress fetish leather oil toy sting slap spank tease tie bind restrain gag arouse velvet slow fast messy bewitch captivate strain raw primal panting breathless purr rumble roar scream moan mewl growl whimper thrust need desire swelling throbbing pulsing tremble clutching massage kiss flick grasp collar beg rope corset stockings crawl kneel tight dirty ice gasp anticipation


Sunday, October 7, 2007

Oct. 7 - 100 words

One hundred words is especially hard tonight. I can’t focus. I can’t concentrate. I spent some time at my grandparents’ today. My grandfather isn’t doing too well. The possibilities have me distracted. More than distracted, actually.

I’m supposed to be doing research for National Novel Writing Month. I’m also supposed to be researching Ophelia’s butterflies. There’s also research that needs to be done on a sniper’s rifle, and a compound bow that needs to be picked out. There’s more to research. So much more. I can’t concentrate on any of it.

Maybe it’s time for me to go to bed.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

Oct. 6 - 100 words


Lexie looked over her shoulder at Max. “Oops?”

He didn’t look up from the laptop balanced on his knees when he grunted at her.

Lexie waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Max! What do you mean ‘oops’?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” The sound of his fingers on the keyboard filled the tight space of the car.

“Maximillian! You can’t say ‘oops’, follow it with ‘nothing’ and expect me to belie-“

“Shut up.”

Lexie glared at him in the rearview mirror. “I swear by all that’s holy and not, Max, I’m going to come over this seat and kill you myself.”

Friday, October 5, 2007

Oct. 5 - 100 words

She’s out there somewhere. I know she is. I dream about her every night. I remember her face like it was yesterday. Those blue eyes, that blond hair. She was something. I had to hunt her for months before I got my chance and in the end it was her that came looking for me. Sometimes I cum in my sleep dreaming about how I choked her and bashed her head against the wall.

She could’ve killed me but she didn’t. She made sure I lived.

She should’ve killed me when she had the chance.

I’m gonna kill that bitch.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Oct. 4 - 100 words

“So, this is the great Devon Bates’ private inner sanctum.” Sara turned a slow circle in the middle of the bare room, her eyes wide. “What exactly do you do here?”

Devon enjoyed Sara’s obvious bewilderment – and her beauty -- for a moment. “I –“

Wilson’s dull monotone came from the door. “Master Bates.”

Sara’s wild laughter filled the room and Devon grew hot. He glared at Wilson. “What do you want??”

Wilson cleared his throat. “My apologies for the intrusion, sir. There’s a gentleman on the telephone claiming to be able to help you with the problem you advertised.”

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Oct. 3 - 100 words

So if I’m to understand everything I’ve read this morning (as well as the last few months) I can create the “outline” of my book by, basically, writing it. The short version of it, at any rate. The “you HAVE to read this book it’s all about…” version of it. Nifty. I think I can do that. If I can’t do that, well, then maybe I should rethink this whole writing business.

Wow. Grammar check is all over my ass today. Something about fragmented sentences this time around. It was something else earlier, but damned if I remember what now.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Oct. 2 - 100 words

I’m seriously considering participating in NaNoWriMo. It’s an insane consideration at best, but it’s the rare occasion when I claim any measure of sanity.

I registered with the site this morning. I’d like to claim sleep deprivation as the responsible culprit, but I don’t think I can make it stick.

Besides the serious time constraints that always come with the month of November, the biggest issue I face is the lack of an idea. I have several works in progress, but the rules say I can’t work on them even though one of them has less than 2000 words written.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Oct. 1 - 100 words

I have the energy of a five-year-old today. By that I mean that I’m an unstoppable blur of energy and motion for two or three solid hours then crash hard for a few hours, then make with the Tasmanian Devil/Flash Gordon imitation again.

Unfortunately, I also have the attention span of a gnat today. And by that I mean that I’m getting distracted by every noise I hear and every thing I see, unable to concentrate on any of it for more than five minutes at a time.

It takes too long to write one hundred words. At least today…