Pulling my pants down

It’s been an awful week:  dog dead, family off on vacation, my boss back… an Iliad of woes.  Very difficult to write in such an environment.

Thus, even a pantser such as I must break down and make some outlines, becoming a plotter, lest nothing be written at all.  Below the fold is a pic of the notes I made this afternoon; I was able to lay down about 700 words in the evening, but things are in flux.

What were I an OCD such as Acire:  able to plan an entire month!  Two partial days on the heels of tragedy is the best I can do.  Content tomorrow… what else is left to me?

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Athens or Abattoir?

I’ve three pages of  notes; no, that’s not correct.  I’ve three pages of handwritten questions about where my next novel is to go.  I’ve named Nichole’s story “Part One,” so there’d better be a Part Two and it had best be along presently!  My aggressive date is Labor Day; my passive-aggressive date is Halloween.

After writing my first novel, T4L, I’ve always tried to do something different.  ‘Echoes’ was a ‘road story’ and Cursed Hearts a horror-romance.  The never-completed Crosses & Doublecrosses was a political-espionage thriller.  “The Saga of Nichole5: Part One, Friend & Ally” is… well… I don’t really know what to call it… it’s her voyage of self-discovery, but the three Acts of the book each revolve around a different battle, so it’s also a war story.

Anyway.  At one point Nichole is speaking to the Mayor – read: dictator – of what’s left of Portland, Oregon, offering her and the help of the resurgent Empire of Japan to make his remnant city-state into something like the Athenian Hegemony, but on the West Coast of the former US.  That’s in one hemisphere of my mind.

In the other… when I first saw the café/pub that is Zom’s, just at the northern fringe of Portland State U, I’d the Tubeway Army lyric in mind:

Down to Zom Zom’s a place like it was built in one day:

You can watch the humans try to run

Oh, look, there’s a Rape Machine I’d go outside if it’d look the other way;

You wouldn’t believe the things they do.

From it’s inception, I’d imagined a Bad End.  For the café?  The City?  All my characters?  Honestly, I didn’t know and I still don’t, but the pull in that direxion is overwhelming.  Playing with ideas, I’ve seen Nichole at the crest of the West Hills, looking down and east into Portland… the city an inferno.  Maybe if the camera pulls back a little…?

Gil rested his hand onto her shoulder.

“You did your best.”

“I still failed,” she replied.

There was a gurgle and cry from Mackenzie: sedated after Gil dragged the barbarian raider off of her in mid-rape.

“What now?” he asked.

“I must report my failure to the Throne,” was her casual reply.  “Perhaps I shall be deactivated for my incompetence?”

Yeah.  Lots to think about.  I’ve never been one to plan a story, but I do like to have a feel of where the path is trending, and the footing on this one is rocky.

Casting Call

Not writing anything on Sunday freaked me out so I thought about things Monday – so much my brain shorted out and I had to leave DayJob at 1500 – and came home to write a little.  I’d thought I’d try following on Empire’s Agent, about Arpad and Lily.  I dropped about 400 words and went to bed.  Going back to look at them, just now, I must have been worse off than I thought:  just awful!

The problem, of course, is me.  After starring in my first two novels, Lily Barrett is something of an iconic figure of my future history.  One doesn’t just randomly use icons in short story writing exercises.  I’m going to spend the rest of this evening thinking and making a few notes.  I am really interested where this might lead but I don’t want to bugger it up.

Content tomorrow.  Something.  Promise.

Bridge; suspended

Saw much while at work today:  project manager Chinon’s surprise when Dorina tells him she’ll be running things at Chise’s brief restart; Shandor’s possible betrayal (and thus Thaad’s possible reaxion); Pius XIII on his knees in his office in the Vatican, praying; a certain door to a certain chamber opening… as the thin rug of reality that gets torn out from under Leslie…

So I saw that.  But I’m very tired and do not want to screw it all up for everyone.  Please, grant me a night for them to let me dream their details.  Confused?  You won’t be after tomorrow’s episode of The Second Bridge.

PS  You really, really think there are such things as coincidences?  This showed up, today, of all days!

MachCiv Dreams: “W’Ai’de Awake” 2

It’s a lousy pun, but it’s mine.  So there.

It looks as if were going to be learning about Ai’s first interactions with her father.  That also means her interactions with humans in general.  Honestly, I’m a bit curious, myself.  Must be why I decided to come back to it.

I had to go ask my older teenaged daughter what you call those long strands of hair in front of your ears.  It’s good to have experts to draw upon when writing!

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MCD – Abandoned Factory 7 (Close)

This is a little longer, but I wanted it shut down this weekend.  That, of course, is not the same as “over.”  Few stories are ever over.

The construction of this is a bit different as I’ve made a change to my storytelling.

This was fun; perhaps too much fun, though.  What next?

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