Tag: Portland

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.

Feed.Back

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.

Tears, sweat, blood

To cite Arkada of Glass Reflections:  ladies, gentlemen, and others, I present to you the final installment of Act 2.5 of “Defiant.”  Yes, you read that right:  the writing component is complete.  Editing and ret-conning the four parts of this 18-month, 85.5k writing exercise into a proper novel will begin.

And therein lies your chance, you followers of this blog and those that have wandered in via my sole social media presence on Gab.ai:  if you so desire, you can d/l and read the entire story between now and Saturday, for free.  It’s very, very rough, but you’ll get what you pay for. Come Saturday, whenever I wake up, I’ll be pulling the entire ‘free webnovel’ down as I begin to turn it into a commercial novel.  As always, I’ll do the first-pass editing myself.  Second and copyediting – and a cover – are as yet an unknown; after the layabout wife and the Dog With the Golden Nose, it’s all ramen and Taco Bell salsa packets here.  My sole, possible, hard-deadline, is January 26th, when I might have another Creative Writing panel at Ohayocon.  If I do, I’d like to say, “since my last panel, I’ve published two books… what did you do?”  Keeps the snarkers from snarking.

Anyway, there’s just over thirty five hundred fricking words below the fold!  Open a bottle of wine or make a pot of coffee, the one right next to that bottle of bourbon, sit back, and, please, see what I’ve seen… and have fun!

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AM or PM?

“Meet me at eight!”

Who hasn’t been there at some moment of their life?  In this case, Nichole and Joe go back to Portland, a diversion to Zom’s, some other characters show up… for dinner…

Oh my God, they leave the battlezone at dawn!  That has them back into the City around 0800!  What the hell am I supposed to do for the next nine to ten hours?!

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“You Are In My Vision”

Eleven days straight at Day Job.  At least I was able to think a great deal about what the hell might or might not be going on.  True to my style, I went for the minimalist approach.  So, we get a little overlap of the last scene from Joe’s perspective, followed by Nichole doing gallant machine things and Joe doing gallant human things.

I am genuinely happy when machines and humans compliment one another as men and women do.

Last Sunday, our parish priest – in anticipation of Thanksgiving – asked us to consider what we’re thankful for.  Besides the trite answers (“my family!”), what I really thought was that God let me see, and write, stories like this.  I don’t deserve it.

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“You’re a movie”

“Hey.  Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” My wife asked, per our agreement.  I’d spent a few minutes looking at ‘ground view’ on Bing Maps of the north side of the Lewis and Clark Bridge, followed by a few minutes of resting my chin in my hand.

“Yeah.  But I can only write what they show me.”

She nodded at that and returned to her studies.  She learned years ago that I watch a scene unfold in my mind as if I’m sitting in a theater.  When the reel stops, I just write down what I saw.  I’m more a reporter than a writer.

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Meta-exercise

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.”

“Why that?”

“Ten to immerse, thirty to write, five imbedded to tactical edit on the fly.”

“Okay.”

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.

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“Code: Tiger”

Yes, it’s been a-while.  I’m a lousy writer and terrible person.  For those you not out on a date with your current or future spouse, here’s a treat:  3600 words of a battle just about to start.  Being Veterans/Remembrance Day, I have Nichole look around at one point, recalling the living so that she will be able to recall the dead, fighting to save their homes and families.

When I write the battle at L&C bridge – which should go quickly, I’m not one for battle scenes – there’s a moment with Nichole and Joe at the end of it, then back to the City.  At that point, I’ve all the raw material, about 80k words, complete, and just need to edit it into a coherent novel.  By Christmas.

If any hot strawberry-blonde girls want to gift me US$500 for the 99designs.com cover for this book, I’ll use your image, if you do.  Otherwise, I’m having to sell a kidney.

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