Updated to add: Actual content! Apparently I can’t type text in the content field, only in the title and tags fields, from my phone.
The Toronto Standard has (or had) an entertaining feature, “Ideas, free to a good home”. I’m full of this sort of idea. Christy Matheson is one of them.
You know how Pat Robertson said a few months back that if your spouse has Alzheimer’s disease it’s okay to divorce them, because they’re dead to you anyway? And Newt Gingrich kind of had affairs on his sickly wives (at least one of them) instead? Well, I was thinking: how does someone who needs to have an affair on their sickly spouse go about meeting the right person to do that with.
One thing I learned from “The Other Boleyn Girl” was that it’s more appropriate for a king to have an affair with a married girl than a single one. So clearly, my hypothetical person married to an Alzheimer’s patient would need to meet another like-minded individual in similar circumstances (of the opposite sex of course, this being a problem that godless atheists don’t have).
That’s where Christy Matheson comes in. I envision it being company like Ashley Madison, except for married Christian people who have to find a mate substitute.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
This is my brain on X
Do you ever have a thought, and then it disappears because someone distracted you, and you spend a whole lot of time wanting that idea back, and then you remember what you think it might have been and it’s actually something quite stupid, like “I should google my coworker’s name” or "I wonder what John Scalzi is up to today?"
I wonder if I’ve ever really forgotten a brilliant story idea, or if they were all that crap.
I wonder if I’ve ever really forgotten a brilliant story idea, or if they were all that crap.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Flash Fiction Challenge: "Dust Bowl Dance"
It's been weeks and weeks (at least four weeks) since last I did one of these challenges. I'm fighting the idiot self-imposed conviction that everything I write has to have a supernatural or fantastic or SF element. That's just stupid.
“The name of this place is pretty offensive,” the woman said as I set her beer on the bar.
"Not my fault," I said. "It was named that when I got here."
"Still, you're making light of people's suffering." She might have been 43 (just a guess), with long hair in a ponytail, still mostly blonde. She wore paint-spattered jeans and a tee-shirt.
"They're all dead. And I think it's more a statement about our cleaning staff. Lanes should be clean."
The man who came in and made a bee-line to her would have been two or three years older, fit like a runner and suited like a lawyer. His hairline was receding. He wore a wedding ring. A bowling alley must have seemed like a good place to meet; neither artists nor lawyers would hang out here.
“Diet coke,” he said, and turned to her as if they had known each other how long? I’d guess two-and-a-half years. “I was worried sick.”
“You should have been,” the woman answered. She wasn’t the type of woman a man like him would marry.
“Why didn’t you text?” he said, sipping his coke through a straw.
“I was in hospital.” He winced as she sucked back a quarter of her pint of beer in one swallow. “They take all your stuff and lock it up so no one can walk off with it.”
There was a long, awkward silence. I was cleaning glasses.
"How did you get there?” he asked.
“My landlady was looking for the rent,” the woman said. “She found me in the kitchen. I guess she saved my life.”
“I should have dropped by,” the man said. “What day was that?”
The woman shrugged. “My chart said I was admitted on the Wednesday.”
It was Friday now. “You bled for three days?”
“Presumably.” The woman finished her beer and looked at me.
She was too light to be able to handle much. “Driving?” I said.
“Hell no,” she said as if I was crazy to even ask. “You wouldn’t believe the questions I had to answer. They asked if I had done it to myself.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said.
I put another beer down in front of the woman, and she took a sip as the man’s eyes searched her face – eyes, lips, beer, ringless paint-stained hands. “But it’s gone,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s gone.”
He seemed relieved. “It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t,” the woman said. “It was ectopic. They snipped some things, cleaning up, for my own good. It won’t happen again.”
He put an envelope in front of her, but she set her beer on it, leaving a wet condensation ring. “I can’t finish that,” she said. She took off a cross on a chain and set it on the bar. She turned away, and left.
The man left a $20 from the envelope on the bar. Everything else, he stuck in his jacket pocket as he followed her out.
“The name of this place is pretty offensive,” the woman said as I set her beer on the bar.
"Not my fault," I said. "It was named that when I got here."
"Still, you're making light of people's suffering." She might have been 43 (just a guess), with long hair in a ponytail, still mostly blonde. She wore paint-spattered jeans and a tee-shirt.
"They're all dead. And I think it's more a statement about our cleaning staff. Lanes should be clean."
The man who came in and made a bee-line to her would have been two or three years older, fit like a runner and suited like a lawyer. His hairline was receding. He wore a wedding ring. A bowling alley must have seemed like a good place to meet; neither artists nor lawyers would hang out here.
“Diet coke,” he said, and turned to her as if they had known each other how long? I’d guess two-and-a-half years. “I was worried sick.”
“You should have been,” the woman answered. She wasn’t the type of woman a man like him would marry.
“Why didn’t you text?” he said, sipping his coke through a straw.
“I was in hospital.” He winced as she sucked back a quarter of her pint of beer in one swallow. “They take all your stuff and lock it up so no one can walk off with it.”
There was a long, awkward silence. I was cleaning glasses.
"How did you get there?” he asked.
“My landlady was looking for the rent,” the woman said. “She found me in the kitchen. I guess she saved my life.”
“I should have dropped by,” the man said. “What day was that?”
The woman shrugged. “My chart said I was admitted on the Wednesday.”
It was Friday now. “You bled for three days?”
“Presumably.” The woman finished her beer and looked at me.
She was too light to be able to handle much. “Driving?” I said.
“Hell no,” she said as if I was crazy to even ask. “You wouldn’t believe the questions I had to answer. They asked if I had done it to myself.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said.
I put another beer down in front of the woman, and she took a sip as the man’s eyes searched her face – eyes, lips, beer, ringless paint-stained hands. “But it’s gone,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s gone.”
He seemed relieved. “It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t,” the woman said. “It was ectopic. They snipped some things, cleaning up, for my own good. It won’t happen again.”
He put an envelope in front of her, but she set her beer on it, leaving a wet condensation ring. “I can’t finish that,” she said. She took off a cross on a chain and set it on the bar. She turned away, and left.
The man left a $20 from the envelope on the bar. Everything else, he stuck in his jacket pocket as he followed her out.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
In process -- December 2011
First Draft
“Fairfax”. Started month with 43,000 words, near the beginning of Chapter 17, having written portions of my second outline. Now I’m past 54,000 nearing the end of Chapter 20. I should be more than half done! We’ll see about that, in about six months. . .
Editing
Toothbrushing Club. (Middle Years novel). Last time I posted, a week into December, I had gone through the first half, with the goal to have draft 3 by Christmas break. In this, I was successful. There was a lot less moving scenes around, and a lot more writing entire scenes, towards the end. I knew the ending was awful, and had written a note after reading the whole thing to basically delete the last five pages, and I wrote something else entirely. The whole thing is printed out and ready to read again, but I think I should give it a week or two.
This is the first time I’ve ever really properly done a “middle” draft of anything this long from start to finish. The document is 53,000 words long which seems sort of shocking, like I might have added 10,000 words or so, because I thought the previous draft was in the low 40’s.
“Dowsing”. (short story, 5K). This got 5 crits on OWW, so when I went on Christmas vacation, I printed them off and took a draft with me to show what I do, if anyone of my relatives was interested. I didn’t look at it the whole time.
Not Cold Enough. Carried this around all Christmas holiday, too, but didn’t look at it.
Knitting
Fair Isle Argyle socks. First one done, second started.
Border socks. Gift. Three pairs done.
Commuter gloves. Gift. Done.
I so badly want to start a sweater, it’s killing me!
“Fairfax”. Started month with 43,000 words, near the beginning of Chapter 17, having written portions of my second outline. Now I’m past 54,000 nearing the end of Chapter 20. I should be more than half done! We’ll see about that, in about six months. . .
Editing
Toothbrushing Club. (Middle Years novel). Last time I posted, a week into December, I had gone through the first half, with the goal to have draft 3 by Christmas break. In this, I was successful. There was a lot less moving scenes around, and a lot more writing entire scenes, towards the end. I knew the ending was awful, and had written a note after reading the whole thing to basically delete the last five pages, and I wrote something else entirely. The whole thing is printed out and ready to read again, but I think I should give it a week or two.
This is the first time I’ve ever really properly done a “middle” draft of anything this long from start to finish. The document is 53,000 words long which seems sort of shocking, like I might have added 10,000 words or so, because I thought the previous draft was in the low 40’s.
“Dowsing”. (short story, 5K). This got 5 crits on OWW, so when I went on Christmas vacation, I printed them off and took a draft with me to show what I do, if anyone of my relatives was interested. I didn’t look at it the whole time.
Not Cold Enough. Carried this around all Christmas holiday, too, but didn’t look at it.
Knitting
Fair Isle Argyle socks. First one done, second started.
Border socks. Gift. Three pairs done.
Commuter gloves. Gift. Done.
I so badly want to start a sweater, it’s killing me!
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
What I read: December 2011
OWW: 4
“The Courts of Chaos” by RZ. You know, Corwin is one of the most awesomest characters ever. He’s like basically a god, and yet he doesn’t win all the time (wrestling with his brother, sword fighting with his other brother), doesn’t get what he wants, doesn’t ultimately save the world all by himself. . . Roger Zelazny is awesome.
“Fool Moon” by Jim Butcher. Library book, #2 of the Dresden Files. I found it easier in this one easier to keep track of the characters than the first volume.
“Mother Tongue” by Bill Bryson. The information was really interesting, and that kept me reading, but I found this book obnoxious. If it was a little dated in sections, that can be forgiven because it was written in 1990. However, if you’re going to take a tone that says “wow, everyone else is so stupid!” which is how the ‘humor’ seemed sometimes, your research and editing really has to be absolutely impeccable. Torontoans? Who calls us that?
“Motel of the Mysteries” by David MacAulay. This was a silly quick read about a future excavation of a cheap hotel, where the future people get a lot of things completely wrong. They were British dilettantes who wore the toilet seat as a necklace/headdress and thought the plunger was a musical instrument but weren’t sure how it should be played. It reminded me a lot of a program book I had about King Tut’s tomb, and has aged very well (it was published in 1979).
“The Island of Lost Maps” by Miles Harvey. I’d never heard of the crime or the criminal, but this guy had walked into a bunch of libraries (many connected to universities) and stolen maps out of books quite brazenly. This book is a true crime investigation thing about that. To me, the book was more about the process of research and long-form journalism. The author was very evident in the story, as was the history of maps.
“The Courts of Chaos” by RZ. You know, Corwin is one of the most awesomest characters ever. He’s like basically a god, and yet he doesn’t win all the time (wrestling with his brother, sword fighting with his other brother), doesn’t get what he wants, doesn’t ultimately save the world all by himself. . . Roger Zelazny is awesome.
“Fool Moon” by Jim Butcher. Library book, #2 of the Dresden Files. I found it easier in this one easier to keep track of the characters than the first volume.
“Mother Tongue” by Bill Bryson. The information was really interesting, and that kept me reading, but I found this book obnoxious. If it was a little dated in sections, that can be forgiven because it was written in 1990. However, if you’re going to take a tone that says “wow, everyone else is so stupid!” which is how the ‘humor’ seemed sometimes, your research and editing really has to be absolutely impeccable. Torontoans? Who calls us that?
“Motel of the Mysteries” by David MacAulay. This was a silly quick read about a future excavation of a cheap hotel, where the future people get a lot of things completely wrong. They were British dilettantes who wore the toilet seat as a necklace/headdress and thought the plunger was a musical instrument but weren’t sure how it should be played. It reminded me a lot of a program book I had about King Tut’s tomb, and has aged very well (it was published in 1979).
“The Island of Lost Maps” by Miles Harvey. I’d never heard of the crime or the criminal, but this guy had walked into a bunch of libraries (many connected to universities) and stolen maps out of books quite brazenly. This book is a true crime investigation thing about that. To me, the book was more about the process of research and long-form journalism. The author was very evident in the story, as was the history of maps.
Thursday, December 08, 2011
In Process (first drafts): November 2011
“Fairfax”. Started month with about about 36,000 words, in the midst of Chapter 14. Ended with about 43,000 and having started Chapter 17.
Have I mentioned my process? When I start a novel, I always feel like everything is going to be great this time. I have a brilliant idea, and I just can’t wait to start RIGHT NOW!!!!!!! I write about 15,000 words, and then I realize that I don’t know what happens next. I have a general idea of how things need to end (giant robots!) but I don’t know how I’m going to get from here (burned house in the woods and water wheel and witch hunter) to making the giant robots and having the battle. So I write an outline of the next 75 things that are going to happen between here and the ending (that’s one thing for every thousand words I have left to write).
I do not write the outline from now to the end, I start with the end, and then fill in backwards, and then frontwards, and then I fill in the middle. And then I largely ignore the outline and write another 20,000 words. Then I get stuck again and I go and look at the outline, and try to cross things off that I’ve covered.
This is not pretty. I have covered more than 30 of these things. I do not know who the bad guy is, or some other essential piece of information. I write another outline, this time with 55 things in it, trying to get back on track to the same ending. I write some more.
That’s where I am now.
Have I mentioned my process? When I start a novel, I always feel like everything is going to be great this time. I have a brilliant idea, and I just can’t wait to start RIGHT NOW!!!!!!! I write about 15,000 words, and then I realize that I don’t know what happens next. I have a general idea of how things need to end (giant robots!) but I don’t know how I’m going to get from here (burned house in the woods and water wheel and witch hunter) to making the giant robots and having the battle. So I write an outline of the next 75 things that are going to happen between here and the ending (that’s one thing for every thousand words I have left to write).
I do not write the outline from now to the end, I start with the end, and then fill in backwards, and then frontwards, and then I fill in the middle. And then I largely ignore the outline and write another 20,000 words. Then I get stuck again and I go and look at the outline, and try to cross things off that I’ve covered.
This is not pretty. I have covered more than 30 of these things. I do not know who the bad guy is, or some other essential piece of information. I write another outline, this time with 55 things in it, trying to get back on track to the same ending. I write some more.
That’s where I am now.
In process, November, 2011
Editing
“Dowsing”. (short story, 5K). Finished typing the rewrite, wound up with 6500 words. Edited the first 3000, and then printed again and edited the whole thing on the premise that the beginning is always the worst part. Posted on OWW and got four quick crits, suggesting that the ending was too sudden. That was kind of what I thought before posting it. I let Ed read it too.
Toothbrushing Club. (Middle Years novel). So, this year I forewent (if that’s a word) NaNoWriMo on the premise that I don’t need another unedited manuscript lying around, and instead I need to edit one of those down, making November in fact NaNoEdMo. But then I did not apply my usual NaNoWriMo discipline, and instead worked on that short story (not a waste of time by any means) and then screwed around for several days.
So, I found myself on November 16 thinking, Oh dear, I guess I’d better read this sucker.
I wrote TbC several years ago, and then apparently tried to edit it without actually reading it. In retrospect, this was not a good method. I think what I did, and this was probably at least two years ago, was I broke the story into chunks, most two or three pages long, and then moved them around until the story made sense. Probably reading the story had become too painful. I wrote the first draft, if I recall correctly, pretty quickly and in out of order chunks. This may work for some people and some stories (I think Justine Larbalestier wrote Liar this way, using Scrivener, but I don’t use Scrivener, and TbC isn’t that complicated, and I’m not her, and Liar is an amazing novel by the way) but perhaps not this story and/or not me.
By the time I started reading this novel on November 16, with a goal of having a second draft by the end of November 2011, I had mostly forgotten where I was going with it but knew the general plot, and I could finally read it with fresh eyes. It didn’t start off that badly. But however, it is not the same story that I thought I had written. I guess I did a lot of editing in my mind in the four years from when I wrote it.
Now, a week into December, I have gone through the first half, rewritten, revised, moved stuff around, added scenes and tried to make others have a point, deleted redundant material. My goal is to have another draft (I’m calling it Draft 3) by Christmas break.
Ignoring
“Rabbits.”
Apophis. Have to find the crits I’ve gotten.
“Succubus”. Short story; working on 2nd draft
Pampelmouse. (MY novel)
“Chickpea”. (short story) Ending?
Troll. (short story)
Being reviewed
“Dowsing”. 5 crits, now, on OWW.
Knitting
Fair Isle Argyle socks. Ignoring. There's not enough contrast between my two colors, and I've cast on too many stitches, so I think I need to start again.
Blackwork socks. Gift, the first of the Christmas knitting. Finished.
Border socks. Gift. First pair done, second pair started.
Commuter gloves. Gift. First started.
I so badly want to start a sweater, it’s killing me!
“Dowsing”. (short story, 5K). Finished typing the rewrite, wound up with 6500 words. Edited the first 3000, and then printed again and edited the whole thing on the premise that the beginning is always the worst part. Posted on OWW and got four quick crits, suggesting that the ending was too sudden. That was kind of what I thought before posting it. I let Ed read it too.
Toothbrushing Club. (Middle Years novel). So, this year I forewent (if that’s a word) NaNoWriMo on the premise that I don’t need another unedited manuscript lying around, and instead I need to edit one of those down, making November in fact NaNoEdMo. But then I did not apply my usual NaNoWriMo discipline, and instead worked on that short story (not a waste of time by any means) and then screwed around for several days.
So, I found myself on November 16 thinking, Oh dear, I guess I’d better read this sucker.
I wrote TbC several years ago, and then apparently tried to edit it without actually reading it. In retrospect, this was not a good method. I think what I did, and this was probably at least two years ago, was I broke the story into chunks, most two or three pages long, and then moved them around until the story made sense. Probably reading the story had become too painful. I wrote the first draft, if I recall correctly, pretty quickly and in out of order chunks. This may work for some people and some stories (I think Justine Larbalestier wrote Liar this way, using Scrivener, but I don’t use Scrivener, and TbC isn’t that complicated, and I’m not her, and Liar is an amazing novel by the way) but perhaps not this story and/or not me.
By the time I started reading this novel on November 16, with a goal of having a second draft by the end of November 2011, I had mostly forgotten where I was going with it but knew the general plot, and I could finally read it with fresh eyes. It didn’t start off that badly. But however, it is not the same story that I thought I had written. I guess I did a lot of editing in my mind in the four years from when I wrote it.
Now, a week into December, I have gone through the first half, rewritten, revised, moved stuff around, added scenes and tried to make others have a point, deleted redundant material. My goal is to have another draft (I’m calling it Draft 3) by Christmas break.
Ignoring
“Rabbits.”
Apophis. Have to find the crits I’ve gotten.
“Succubus”. Short story; working on 2nd draft
Pampelmouse. (MY novel)
“Chickpea”. (short story) Ending?
Troll. (short story)
Being reviewed
“Dowsing”. 5 crits, now, on OWW.
Knitting
Fair Isle Argyle socks. Ignoring. There's not enough contrast between my two colors, and I've cast on too many stitches, so I think I need to start again.
Blackwork socks. Gift, the first of the Christmas knitting. Finished.
Border socks. Gift. First pair done, second pair started.
Commuter gloves. Gift. First started.
I so badly want to start a sweater, it’s killing me!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
What I read -- November 2011
“The Guns of Avalon” by Roger Zelazny. Book 2 of the Chronicles of Amber. I didn’t notice so much in book 1, but Zelazny really paints nice pictures and makes incredible economy of words in these.
“Persuasion” by Jane Austen. When I go to the library, I like to take something out to be supportive, so when they didn’t have whatever the next Jim Butcher book is in the Desden Files, I took out this. Also, I have a DVD of it, and I prefer to read the book first. Anyway, this was a Penguin edition, and it had an over-explaining introduction and footnotes that didn’t seem necessary to me. A lot of the footnoted words were comprehensible in context, and I mean, who really cares that the particular coach they’re talking about is better than a convertible because the top can go either way? I love Jane Austen, and this book was charming.
“Sign of the Unicorn” by RZ. These are so short I almost feel guilty counting them each, rather than reading the whole five-book series as a single book. But, I’ve started this way so I guess I’ll continue. The first time I read these books I remember skipping over the Hell Rides sections because they were boring and didn’t make sense and didn’t further the plot. This time through, I’ve been reading them, and they are actually really interesting, some of them, in what they tell about character. Corwin is basically a god; he and his siblings are a pantheon. He’s hundreds (or more) years old, and yet he makes decisions that are sometimes really young-and-stupid seeming. I say this because I feel like the message, sometimes, is that no one ever feels like a grown-up, even when they are.
“Cascadia’s Fault” by Jerry Thompson. Ed got it out of the library and talked it up so much I picked it up when he was done. We’re all going to die! Cascadia is the fault line that is going to keep pressing on the western edge of the North American plate until the rockies flip up like a tiddlywink and land on Toronto. There you had it, you heard it here first. I’ve seen the author’s documentary “shockwave” that is about the same topic, so I had no trouble visualizing portions of the story. The organizational structure seemed forced, though. It was quite rigidly chronological, and I felt like the author might have written, for example, all the sections with the woman emergency planner at the same time, and then cut them up. This left me occasionally confused because critical details and complete thoughts didn’t appear until later. Not that I have any amazing powers of structure (see all my posts on The Toothbrushing Club for examples).
“The Hand of Oberon” by RZ. I really thought there was something fishy about Ganelon, that’s all I’ll say. He sure picked up new skills quickly.
“Persuasion” by Jane Austen. When I go to the library, I like to take something out to be supportive, so when they didn’t have whatever the next Jim Butcher book is in the Desden Files, I took out this. Also, I have a DVD of it, and I prefer to read the book first. Anyway, this was a Penguin edition, and it had an over-explaining introduction and footnotes that didn’t seem necessary to me. A lot of the footnoted words were comprehensible in context, and I mean, who really cares that the particular coach they’re talking about is better than a convertible because the top can go either way? I love Jane Austen, and this book was charming.
“Sign of the Unicorn” by RZ. These are so short I almost feel guilty counting them each, rather than reading the whole five-book series as a single book. But, I’ve started this way so I guess I’ll continue. The first time I read these books I remember skipping over the Hell Rides sections because they were boring and didn’t make sense and didn’t further the plot. This time through, I’ve been reading them, and they are actually really interesting, some of them, in what they tell about character. Corwin is basically a god; he and his siblings are a pantheon. He’s hundreds (or more) years old, and yet he makes decisions that are sometimes really young-and-stupid seeming. I say this because I feel like the message, sometimes, is that no one ever feels like a grown-up, even when they are.
“Cascadia’s Fault” by Jerry Thompson. Ed got it out of the library and talked it up so much I picked it up when he was done. We’re all going to die! Cascadia is the fault line that is going to keep pressing on the western edge of the North American plate until the rockies flip up like a tiddlywink and land on Toronto. There you had it, you heard it here first. I’ve seen the author’s documentary “shockwave” that is about the same topic, so I had no trouble visualizing portions of the story. The organizational structure seemed forced, though. It was quite rigidly chronological, and I felt like the author might have written, for example, all the sections with the woman emergency planner at the same time, and then cut them up. This left me occasionally confused because critical details and complete thoughts didn’t appear until later. Not that I have any amazing powers of structure (see all my posts on The Toothbrushing Club for examples).
“The Hand of Oberon” by RZ. I really thought there was something fishy about Ganelon, that’s all I’ll say. He sure picked up new skills quickly.
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