From a few in-person, including my wife, but mostly via email. Why almost no one ever leaves comments here, I don’t know.
There was much unhappiness how I wrapped up Defiant Act 2.5: at the pool with Joe’s diagnosis. If I were to distill is all down, I guess “casually tossing out a main character!” would be the flak I caught.
Yeah. I did. Because this was never meant to be a coherent novel, but a nine-month long writing exercise, the break from Acts 2 and 3 was huge. 2.5 was meant to be a bridge; but, it seems that like the Lewis & Clarke, it was a bridge too far. The anchor issue is that Joe MUST have cancer and go to Japan for treatment: he’s on the boat back to Portland with Maya in “Cursed Hearts.”
Is it the hyper-sexualized environment of the pool, and the emotional whiplash after, when Nichole5 realizes her First Friend is sick? A human girl would have no idea about his illness and banged him then and there. Nichole5 chose to shatter the moment for everyone in face of what she sees as a medical emergency.
Perhaps I went too far, too fast. I’ll give some thought as to how I might re-write this. Suggestions welcome, as I see nothing, right now.
Defiant began life as a writing exercise. What if, I thought, during NaNoWriMo – which I am not formally taking part – I made a writing exercise of my writing exercise? My slovenly, lay-about, unemployed wife suggested that she study some training manuals while I write each night.
“Fine. Forty five minutes.”
“Ten to immerse, thirty to write, five imbedded to tactical edit on the fly.”
We started Monday. Not being an idiot, I’ve built in a 3-day lag for the blog, for RealLife(TM) events. Dailies, these will be shorter than my typical additions. I enjoy the exercise.
Continue reading “Meta-exercise”
As Churchill noted, jaw-jaw is better than war-war. But, there are some people that just need killin.’ Cannibals, for instance. I know way back in Defiant Act I, wrote that how they were dressed and cut their heads, “it was hard to tell the men from women.” So, I could be really edgy and call them tranny-cannies; that should trigger a few thousand hate-hits to my little blog.
Meh. I’m just here to tell the stories they show me; as Nichole discovers, sitting across from Mayor Johnson, in his study, politics is work.
Continue reading “Peace is Our Profession”
Just months after Steven Den Beste, to who’s memory I dedicated “Cursed Hearts,” comes news this evening of the death of Dr. Jerry Pournelle, the other most responsible for my becoming a writer (“start your story in the middle!”).
I am devastated. I shall wrap up PT when I can see through my tears. The world is… so dark.
There are many with eulogies. I went to a friend’s site, once I’d heard the news.
Coming to around 1000 at my day-job, I had a moment of clarity: for the last seven months, all my waking moments had been filled with Chris, Cat, and Maya somewhere in my mind.
For the past 36 hours: all quiet.
The mental moment was this: I was in a darkened – but not dark – older church, alone. A place that was just recently host to a hundred, and soon will be again, but now preternatuary still.
At the end of T4L, I’d already seen the sequel. The close of EFL was a ‘LOL’ moment, as kids would type.
Alone, looking at three graves of those that have been, not a part of me, but me… well… it’s very quiet, now.
Don’t like it.
Here I go to the time and trouble to kill Anton, only to realize at lunch what a conundrum that makes: sure, Maya now knows the entire plan to try to save Chris & Cat, but that still leaves her at UCSD, miles from Miramar Air Station and at the mercy of their passive and active defenses – to say nothing of the ‘boss battle’ in the hanger. It’d be 5k words, minimum, to get through that.
Soooo… Anton doesn’t die. Maya (and her riders) tempts him, instead. Fits the theme of the story better, really. Anton accepts, calling for his bodyguard/driver, Manuel. He promises to get her through Security. I’m not sure if he’s scared for his own pampered, aristocratic life, or if he’s sincere. We’ll see.
Personally, if a demoness was resting her teeth on my neck, after killing my soldiers, and having leeched about 10% of my life out, so long as it wasn’t about my wife & kids, I’d talk a deal, too. Buy time. The horse might learn to sing.
Continue reading “Re: Animated”
Being Spring, I was cleaning up things in the backyard. Gave ‘The Dog with the Golden Nose’ a haircut. Finally made some coffee, added bourbon, and got Maya to cross paths with Debbie & her Rottweiler, Daisy.
Ran away to make dinner for family. After that, was itchy enough to take bi-weekly oatmeal bath. No! I’m not avoiding…
Grabbed notepad and pen (I’m a lazy writer, not a stupid one) and jotted down Maya’s break-in to Chris & Cat’s place. Then: blank.
Got more red-piss (the cheap wine I drink; told my wife to cut me back once ‘CH’ is finished) and a hunk of cheese for dessert. Saw more: Maya’s discovery of Cat’s condition, her escape – after killing Anton (and thus knowing his plan) – as Maya races towards the guarded hangar at Miramar Air Station.
Five months ago, I saw everyone dead in a subterranean parking garage. Perhaps that was in error. I don’t yet know: does the fight start in the hangar, and C&C retreat?
“Ask again later.”
PS Yesterday was also a local author fair at the county public library. Meh. Not much, but I’d brought bourbon, so there was that.