Monthly Archives: May 2012

Give to me your advises

Ok, here’s something I haven’t done before, but I figure at least a few of you are reading this thing and if you have any thoughts on this issue I would appreciate them.

As I write this thing, I have a bit of an issue:  There’s a character who was originally conceived to be fairly minor, and in fact I have almost written all the scenes in which he was scheduled to appear.  The ‘problem’, if that’s what it is, is this: first of all the character is fun to write, and second, at least one of the Eager Volunteers has so far indicated that he is (thus far) their favorite.

Should I rework the thing to give this character a bigger role?  The main risk I see there (aside from having to rework the plot to accommodate it of course) is that he may not continue to be as appealing – for me or readers – in larger doses.  Possibly I should just file him away for later use in other places.

Anyway it’s a nice problem to have, I guess, and writing another of his scenes got me through the two days I complained about last time, so that was a good deal.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts or experience to share, I would be grateful.


Word Count: 27,565

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Two Tough Days

Just a brief one today.  The last couple days have been hard ones to keep at it – I had training all day at work yesterday, which was stupid on several levels, and then a meeting taking up most of the day today, which was about as fun as it sounds.  Anyway I did not arrive home in a writing mood, to say the least, and seriously thought about just giving myself the night off, tonight especially.

However I didn’t, and I’m glad I didn’t, because one thing I know I am good at is making excuses, and once I start finding reasons not to write on a particular day I will probably find a lot of them.  Basically, then, this is just a check in to affirm that I am still banging away at this thing and that the process of writing EVERY day seems to be working.  I think if I take it back to just writing SOME days I will really get in the mud.

Now I’m not sure whether anything I wrote today or yesterday is even slightly good but I’m not sure that’s the point.  Even if I end up rewriting those points entirely I kept the momentum going and kept building the base to work from.

I guess in the end I kind of want to say yay for me, lame as that is.

Word Count: 26, 319  (yay for me)

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Another progress report (sort of) and more of me dumping a bunch of the contents of my brain at you.  I’m going to try to reduce the angst level of these updates, though – some of the things recent visitors to the blog are writing about remind me that it the big scheme of things having a bit of trouble writing imaginary stories is not that big a deal.

I’ve also been debating with myself over this favorite authors thing (which is way beyond ‘first world problems’ and into a whole different level of ridiculous) and trying to decide whether or not to include Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  I’m fairly sure it was my grandmother who introduced me to him, giving me two collections of his stories when we were up for a summer visit because I had already blazed through everything I had brought along to read on the trip and had (probably) adopted Being A Nuisance as a fallback activity.  Anyway I loved the stories, devoured them, and upon reflection reading Conan Doyle by the light of an oil lamp may be the ideal way to experience him.

The thing is that first of all I have never gotten around to reading The Lost World or any of the other Professor Challenger stories, and also if I’m honest, some of his later stuff is clearly not as good as the work for which he is most famous.  On the other hand, if you have created one of the Immortals, I think you get a bit of a pass if ‘The Three Gables’ is kind of alarming and ‘The Creeping Man’ is a bit crap.

By Immortals I mean the relatively short list of characters who get imbedded not just into the imagination of the time they were written but into imaginations from that point onwards.  We keep wanting to read their stories, watch the plays, watch the movies.  We want to tell new stories with the Immortals in them or create our own versions of them.  You know who I mean.  Robin Hood.  Dracula.  Long John Silver.  And Conan Doyle’s Immortal (of course), Sherlock Holmes.

As kind of a side note, this whole Immortals deal seems to have its origins (for me, I know this is hardly an original thought here) with an old Patrick Watson series called The Titans in which Watson would “interview” some great figure from history like Alexander the Great or Thomas Jefferson, ostensibly summoned from the past to have an amiable chat with a Canadian TV personality.  The show didn’t last long because, I imagine, watching Patrick Watson interview some actor in historical dress was a fairly daft spectacle, but even though my social historian training tells me I should have been hostile to the whole premise it was pretty entertaining, and the portrayal of Elizabeth, I confess, has basically continued to be how I have imagined Gloriana ever since.  The Titans also got me thinking about the fictional characters who stay with us just as much, if not more, than the Caesars and Napoleons who we think of as real despite all our reimaginings of them.

Anyway Sherlock Holmes is unquestionably one of those Immortals; reportrayed and and modernized and just reread a century after he first decided it was all right if Watson (John, rather than Patrick) kept a record of their investigations into life’s curiosities.  I was hooked from the start on the genius detective who is brilliant at everything except being a regular human being and his friend without whom he would be a complete mess, as even Holmes occasionally realizes.

After I got through those two volumes my grandmother gave me (the Adventures and the Memoirs, once she had persuaded me that the Memoirs were mysteries and not about Holmes in grade school or whatever) I got a complete collection and devoured the rest of the stories.  It’s a gift I don’t think I recognized the value of at the time, and wish I had been able to properly say thank you for:  thanks for introducing me to an Immortal.

Sometimes it’s fun to wonder which of our stories today will be among the Immortals;  I mean it’s possible that in 100 years people will still be reading Twilight, but give me leave to doubt it.  Harry Potter?  Katniss Everdeen?  Who knows.  These characters of ours sort of flicker and die, sometimes – when I was a kid the Hardy Boys (about whom more in another entry) seemed like an unsinkable franchise but I doubt very many teenagers today would know who the hell they are.

I don’t mean to sound pessimistic because there are some Immortals of relatively recent vintage:  James Bond seems to have something about him that endures, and Batman, Superman and Spider-Man seem likely to be appearing at just the right moment for a long time to come.  Will, say, some of Stephen King’s creations stick around as Verne’s and Lovecraft’s have?  Will, indeed, people read William Gibson in 2084?

It’s just hard to tell who the Immortals of this generation of artists might be, just like it’s hard to tell whether this or that event going on around us or this person we just met will turn out have changed The Course of History.  It’s a puzzle we can’t solve, but it’s fun to exercise the brain trying anyway.  I mean, it gives you something to do while you’re trying to bang out another thousand words.

Word Count: 23,169

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Processing, Processing

I thought I’d write a little about the process I’m using right now, although it seems a little presumptuous seeing as 1) I can’t really say that it has worked, just that it is working, and 2) hardly an impressive resume to give weight to what I think about writing.  However, thinking through how this project has been different from others has been a useful exercise, so selfishly I’m glad I did it.  I wouldn’t suggest that any of what you’re about to read is the best approach, I can’t guarantee it works, and I can’t even guarantee that you’ll be glad you read it.  On the other hand I have 20,000 words written, it’s still May, and so I can say this is, at present, working ok.

One thing that is definitely different about this project than other things I have written is that I plotted the whole thing out, in rough outline form, before I wrote anything.  I know how it ends.  (Actually, I’ve written the ending, but we’ll get to that later)  I never used to operate that way, and I know I’m not the only one – another part of that Stephen King introduction is his response to people who wanted to know how The Dark Tower series was going to end: he didn’t know until he wrote it.  That’s basically what I used to do as well; I always had a vague idea of what the story would be like but then upon sitting down to do it I was more or less making it up as I went along.

I didn’t consciously want to get away from that, but for practical reasons I ended up doing things a little differently.  Even though I had decided on doing this project during the winter, I didn’t actually have time to write, so I pushed it to the summer when I would have no excuse for not having time to write my 1,000 words every day.  What I did have time to do was tinker with the plot and putting together a bunch of scenes and the order they would go in.  So I ended up with an outline, and it’s made the process of writing every day significantly easier. If I don’t sit down with a clear idea of what I want to write, well, I just write what’s supposed to happen next as well as I can.

That sort of brings me to the other thing I’m doing differently, because often what I want to write and what comes next are not the same thing.  I decided there was no real reason to write this thing in order from beginning to end – I’m going to write whatever part of the story I feel most excited about writing at that particular time.  I started doing this with essays and eventually my thesis, writing bits and pieces that I felt ready to write and then stitching it all together into a whole at the end, and it worked pretty well in getting over the paralysis of the blank screen with the cursor blinking at you as you try to write the perfect opening sentence.  Seems to be working pretty well for writing this thing as well, so far.

Partly it helps with just getting going; instead of trying to force something out that doesn’t want to come, I can go ahead and write the part that is ready to roll.  The other good thing too is that when I have an idea for a point I want to make (papers) or dialogue that works perfectly (fiction) I can write it immediately instead of having to hope I can remember exactly how it was supposed to work when I get to that part of the piece later, which I usually don’t.

Anyway, this is all very preliminary and by the middle of June I may be feeling deeply dysfunctional but so far this slightly different approach from how I used to write fiction is going well enough.

That was a great deal of introspective muttering.  I’ll try to do better the next time.

Word Count: 20,860

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Neil Gaiman and Writing Crisis #2

The Project forges ahead.  This past Friday was a tough one – I had a long day at work and seriously did not feel the least bit like writing by the time I got home, but fortunately the spectre of horrible public failure was not something I was prepared to confront quite this early in the effort.  So the public accountability part of this thing is working!  I think this might already be the largest piece of fiction writing I have ever done.  In order to check, I’d have to be able to open some of those arcane lost files, so I can’t be sure – but I think so.  I guess the good news is that I still feel like I know where I’m going and I don’t even hate this thing too much yet.

Anyway, by way of content, some thoughts on another of my favorite authors.



I don’t really remember how I got into Neil Gaiman, although I think Commander Rick of the much-lamented Prisoners of Gravity SF/fantasy/comics show is to blame.  That show definitely introduced me to Clive Barker and his cigar, the revelation that Tate and Velasco in The Difference Engine are self-inserts of Bruce Sterling and William Gibson, to Gotham by Gaslight and other evidence that comics writing was not necessarily seeing how many terrible cliches you could cram into the dialogue, and may have infected me with Neil Gaiman.  Man, I miss that show.

Anyway Neil Gaiman, however I got the contagion, was like the sudden arrival of a new planet.  Holy crap, where was this before and wow it’s astounding.  I read Neverwhere about a billion times.  While I was in England I bought the entire run of Sandman in trades and read the heck out of that.  I liked it to the point that I paid ridiculous rates to ship it all back across the Atlantic.  I still think Stardust is about the most charming book I have read, and that’s without getting into American Gods or his short stories which never fail to amaze on some level or other.  I’ll confess to not having tracked down his stuff on Hellblazer or Swamp Thing but since Gaiman is also on the short list of authors whose work I just assume is good … well, I just assume it’s real good also.  Even stuff I haven’t liked quite as much, like Anansi Boys, it was like watching your favorite pitcher throw a mere two-hit shutout instead of a no-no.  It’s still pretty darn good by any standard.

However much all of the above is true, Neil Gaiman also led directly to Writing Crisis #2, which was essentially this – Gaiman writes exactly the kind of stories I would like to write.  His stories of the bizarre, the magical and the horrible interspersed and intersecting with the ordinary are more or less exactly the kind of thing I am interested in creating myself.  So given that he already writes this stuff, and does it at such a high level of sheer badassery, is there any reason at all why I should write stuff which is basically the same, but not nearly as good?  My answer was, again, ‘no’, although how I explained it at the time to at least one person was that I didn’t need to write because Gaiman was writing exactly what I wanted to write but better than I could.  What I really meant, though, was that I didn’t see any point in writing things that were basically in Gaiman’s demense except far crappier.  Essentially, if not as good as Gaiman, Surrender Dorothy.

Writing Crisis #2 has only recently been overcome, I have to say, and in part because of the Stephen King intro I started the blog with.  Basically I now think that not writing because my writing is not as good as Neil Gaiman (or whoever) is like not playing the guitar because you’re not as good as Jimi Hendrix or whichever Guitar Hero you want to substitute in.  Presumably one should write because they enjoy the process of creation and they feel like the end product may be enjoyable for whatever reader(s) there end up being, wherever they are on the scale of relative quality.  I’ve been a bit reluctant to put this theory into practice (for reasons which will probably make another update post) but part of the thinking driving The Project, here, is that even if (if?  Fuck it, it’s my blog, we’re going with if) the work is not as good as Gaiman or whoever would produce, someone may still enjoy it.

So writing this thing is vaguely (although here again I set sail boldly into territory I know nothing about, hurrah!) like taking your guitar down to open mic night and seeing if people have a good time or throw vegetables.  And if Neil Gaiman doesn’t like it, well, I bet I’d kick his ass at Ultimate.


Word Count: 15, 309.  So there.

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William Gibson and Writing Crisis #1

Slightly over a week in now.   Things are going all right although I did have to push today to get to the 1,000 words.  That’s good though, that’s the point of the exercise.  Anyway I still don’t know exactly what to do with this blog outside of word count updates so here’s something I wrote about one of my favorite authors.


Somewhere out there (and I fervently hope the answer is “in a landfill”) is a purple spiral-bound notebook containing numerous probably (and perhaps fortunately) illegible stories written by a 17 year-old trying very hard to be William Gibson.   Gibson was probably my first ‘favorite author’ in the sense of an author who I admired for their style of writing and their skill at the craft as opposed to just thinking ‘hey that was a good book so this person must be a good writer I guess’.  I mean I remember writing down Terrence Dicks and Malcolm Hulke as favorite authors for something at school once but that was because they did novel adaptations of Doctor Who and Doctor Who was about my favorite thing at the time.  I kind of doubt I would have gotten the same level of enjoyment out of something else that they wrote, I just liked Doctor Who and so books involving Doctor Who were my favorite ones.

On the other hand William Gibson, once I got reading his stuff, I enjoyed on just about every level and even though the stories I read first were cool SF-y adventures (and thus, more or less in my wheelhouse), after the first one I was actively looking for more William Gibson to read, not more cool SF-y adventures.  So he’d be the first author I think I genuinely admired for themselves or their own work.  Maybe Susan Cooper should be in there, although again I haven’t read anything of hers outside of The Dark is Rising series and never felt any inclination to, so again, it’s not really the same.

Anyway, Gibson knocked my socks off.  I spent many lunch hours in high school in the library reading their copy of Neuromancer, which I would stash in a potted plant so that no-one could borrow it before I had a chance to finish it.  (This eventually led to a tragically damaged copy of Neuromancer after it turns out someone watered those plants from time to time.)  I’m not sure why I didn’t borrow it myself – perhaps the idea of bringing home a book that has an orgasm in it was not something I was prepared to contemplate at that stage – but anyway I didn’t.  But I did read it, love it, and set out to read everything by Gibson that I could get my hands on.

Eventually, Neuromancer did make it home because I did an OAC English project on it, Count Zero, and Mona Lisa Overdrive, which may or may not have been crap but I was super into this writing.  I eventually reached a point where I owned two copies of Burning Chrome, and I still don’t exactly understand how that happened.  But both copies travelled with me through several moves and sat there next to each other on the shelf because it was William Gibson and you don’t just get rid of that stuff.

Unfortunately (as I see it now) in admiring Gibson so much I set out to write stories that were basically William Gibson stories, and filled that spiral-bound notebook (along with various other places) with my own attempts at near-future cyberpunky dystopian tales that even at the time I had a deep and nagging certainty simply did not work, though I didn’t understand why.

I didn’t figure it out until very much later, although in retrospect I think the answer had been coming for a while.  The final penny drop was related to a story I wrote called ‘Virtually Dead’ which was supposed to open in Vladivostok.  I have no clear recollection as to why I chose Vladivostok except that a) that sure was far away b) the name is cool and c) (although I’m sure I would have denied it at the time) Gibson stories take place in  Unusual Locations.  Anyway my creative writing professor immediately observed that what I had described was ‘nothing like Vladivostok’.

Now my first reaction was to wonder what, exactly, were the chances that I would end up with a professor who had been to freaking Vladivostok, but as this criticism (valid, I do not doubt) percolated a bit I realized the problem.  I had never been to Vladivostok, and just had a vague idea of a story that I wanted to be international (also for vague, Gibson-tinged reasons) and so threw it into an international location I knew almost exactly nothing about.  And herein was the problem with trying to write William Gibson stories (leaving aside the whole problem of being a derivative parasite of course) – Gibson’s stories about shady underworld characters and the margins of society work because he actually spent parts of his life with shady underworld characters from the margins of society.

My stories had an indelible taint of lameness all over them because I had grown up in a reasonably affluent bedroom suburb in Southern Ontario and the closest thing I had yet come to an underworld character was that one guy in my Grade 7 class who shoplifted M.U.S.C.L.E. Things from Zeller’s.  (Although he was pretty hardcore about it – he got the big boxes that had like 50 of them in it, not the little ones)  Basically I was trying to write about things that I had literally no experience at all with, had no idea what they were like (aside from what I had gleaned from William Gibson novels of course) so what I was producing was like a bad photocopy of someone else’s depictions.  This clearly Would Not Work and Had to Go.

This became Writing Crisis #1 – can I write interesting stories that are not based on shit I know nothing about?  Because honestly I have not had that exciting a life so perhaps there may be a problem unless I wanted to write about life in a suburban town – which I emphatically do not.  Anyway somewhere in the midst of my undergraduate period (after the creative writing classes) I decided the answer to Writing Crisis #1 was “no” and promptly didn’t write anything for a long time.

I have since revised my answer, perhaps obviously.  In part, the solution is just the ‘smoke that baby’ directive with which I began the blog – write the story, don’t let yourself be ‘carded’ by people who have been to Vladivostok, there is no admittance requirement for this particular ride.  However, there was still a problem with trying to write William Gibson stories – they weren’t my stories.  This is the key thing to smoking that baby, it seems to me.  Make sure it is, in fact your baby.

I was trying to emulate stories that I liked a lot, not creating a story of my own.  They were set in seedy urban environments and involved shady characters making questionable decisions because this is what happened in cool stories that I liked, but there wasn’t much of me in there, just ‘me too!’.  Ultimately I had to figure out a story I wanted to tell on its own merits, and then decide if it really needed to be set in Vladivostok, or not (It doesn’t).

So even if my efforts to write my own Neuromancer were ultimately ill-fated and ill-conceived, I still love William Gibson’s writing.  Even Distrust That Particular Flavor, which is a collection of columns he wrote for various publications, is great reading.  It is (I imagine – this is another on the long list of experiences I have not actually had) kind of like hanging out with an inscrutable learned master of some elevated philosophy, waiting for the next unprompted utterance to meditate on (Japan, again?  All right…) and determining what you’ll take away from it.  It’s an unquestionably odd experience, but well worth doing.

So yeah, I still really enjoy William Gibson and he is on the short list of writers whose books I will buy without knowing what they’re about – I just take it as read (har) that whatever it is will be good.  However, I don’t think I’m trying to be William Gibson anymore, which is probably just as well.


Word Count: 10,278.  Keepin’ on.

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The Problem

First of all, Happy Mothers’ Day!  I had a whole thing written that was rather overwrought so I’ve decided to cut it down to this:  Among all the other things I am thankful to my mother for, I’m very grateful to her for introducing me to reading.  She started me out reading so young that I can’t remember a time when I didn’t read for pleasure, and it’s a rare day when I don’t spend at least part of my day with a book.  It’s an invaluable gift.

As for the Project, it proceeds!  In practice the 1,000 words a day has been working out to about an hour of writing, which seems sustainable.  I guess ask me again in August though.  I have sent the first chunk out to my Eager Volunteers and look forward to hearing what they have to say.  I also thought I would write a bit about why this blog, and this project, seems like it is necessary for me.


So this is my problem with writing, as far as I am aware.  Absolutely we need to factor in laziness and procrastination as well and a couple of specific Writing Crises I will probably talk about later, but this is the fundamental thing at the root of it all.  Basically, it works like this.

I get an idea, and I’ll be excited about it, and think it’s fantastic.  In the past, this would get me writing instantly, because the idea is just … so … good.  However, as time passes, I’ll sort of start revising my opinion.  Ok, it’s not a great idea, but it’s pretty good.  Well, some parts of it are not too bad.  Actually, it’s pretty mediocre but with some work parts are worth saving.  Maybe there’s a couple of decent elements but overall it’s bad.  No, in fact it’s just bad.  Really I should just pretend I never wrote it.

Yes, essentially I have that Statler and Waldorf routine going on in my brain.

This has happened with everything I have ever written.  When I was writing more back in the day, it led to an increasing population of things that I had written (or mostly written) and decided I loathed sitting around doing nothing.  I can never quite bring myself to delete things but I do abandon them.

I have a few things I have kept around so long that they are either saved on diskettes that I can no longer have drives for, or they’re in file formats that are so old that I have no programs that can open them.  I really don’t know why I keep them at this point but whenever I try to throw them out or delete them I get to thinking of the stories that are locked up in there somehow, theoretically preserved but effectively (at least to a technological illiterate like myself) lost in a fog of obsolescence.  At any rate, even though I think they’re awful stories at this point I just can’t quite do it.  Seems like abandoning them to digital purgatory is bad enough without eradicating the poor things.

But anyway this has caused me to not ever really do anything with anything I have written, and to not finish a lot of projects.  In recent years when my time to write has been restricted I have gone through the whole process with an idea without ever writing a word of it down.  This reduces file clutter admirably, but also writing output.  I suppose that would be fine if only I wouldn’t keep having this nagging feeling that I should, somehow, be writing, if only it wasn’t all terrible.

I am well aware that this is hardly unique and that being your own worst critic is kind of a cliche.  It may not be an unheard of issue, but it is my issue and it is one I have really struggled to overcome.  I realize that ultimately I do need to just Get Over It but sometimes these things need a bit of a push, which is what I’m hoping this summer project will accomplish.

Essentially I’m hoping that committing to writing something to completion and making myself accountable for it however I can will help me work through this and get something done.  Primarily for personal satisfaction but also to see if whatever I produce is in any way decent.  I’m not looking for a pat on the head, though – I just want to challenge myself to actually finish a project.  Perhaps (he said quietly, in the hopes of not startling the idea away) having finished something once, it won’t be quite so impossible to do so a second time.

We’ll see.


Word Count: 8.218


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100% Success

I really will not be updating this thing every day, but I thought I should make it clear that I didn’t immediately screw this thing up and did in fact achieve my goal for today.  It’s amazing, though,how immediately writing became A Thing once I had a daily quota to reach.  Getting started was genuinely a bit daunting as well now that it is officially for a project rather than just screwing around.

The good news is that I wrote a chunk of stuff, which I probably wouldn’t have otherwise done today.  So far, the plan (such as it is) is working.  I really will need to figure out more interesting things to write in the blog updates though.

Incidentally thank you to everyone who has read this and especially to everyone who has already given me encouragement and/or threats.  They’re much appreciated.


Word Count: 3,719   So there.

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Smoke that Shit

So this is all really Stephen King’s fault, if you are looking for someone to blame (this perhaps directed especially to my Eager Volunteers).  Those of who who have known me for a while will know I have written fiction on and off but nothing much of late, for a whole fleet of reasons we may get into another time.  However, I guess about two years ago I finally decided to read the Dark Tower series and even before I got to the part where the man in black fled across the desert and Ka is like a wheel I got to this foreward King wrote, entitled ‘On Being Nineteen (and a few other things)’.

Now I kind of figure Mr. King had a somewhat younger target in mind for this thing than me, but this essay (or whatever) really grabbed me by the throat.  Broadly it’s about following your heart and your passion (both of which are foremost in your mind at age nineteen) but he talks about writing specifically (no surprises) and the process of finishing The Dark Tower.  There’s a lot of stuff in there but his advice for young artists is pretty fantastic.

‘Let it rip regardless of what anybody tells you, that’s my idea, sit down and smoke that baby.’  This is something I wish I read when I was 19, or really ‘a while ago’ in general.  (Now I’ll accept that I may have been sent this message, or one much like it, one one or several occasions, and failed to hear it for whatever reason.  However, you’ll forgive me if I write this in a way that puts me in a slightly less dumbass light, won’t you?)  Even so, even if I was coming to it a little late, this had my attention.

I mean, there’s about a million reasons not to spend time writing fiction, including Writing Crises that will probably appear in later entries, but King’s advice to just smoke that shit is great.  Sure, there may not be any money in it, and you probably aren’t writing The Dark Tower or The Brothers Karamazov or whatever, but if you feel you’ve got that art in you then sit down and bang it out, regardless.  Ok.  All right.  Who am I to argue with Stephen King.

All of which to say: I have taken on a project, and the project is this:  Spend this summer writing a novel, and specifically to write a minimum of 1,000 words a day (roughly 4 pages) a day doing it.  I have told many people that 1,000 words is a mere nothing, so this should be easy, right?  Right.  I imagine some days I will grimly grind out precisely 1,000 words and then throw my computer into the street, and other days I will dash off higher amounts.  Either way, although hopefully there will be of the less computer-throwing days, by the end of the summer I should have 90,000 words, or thereabouts, which will be the bulk of a novel-length hunk o’ writing.

The purpose of the blog here (one of them anyway) is for me to be publicly accountable and liable for Heaping of Scorn if I fall short.  So every time I update (at least once a week) there will be a word count.  If I fall behind I overflow with confidence that I will get the static I would then so richly deserve.  This is to help me with overcoming the Problem, which we will discuss before long.  I have also enlisted some kind and eager volunteers to donate their time to editting and kicking the crap out of the work as I go along.

The endgame of the Project, though, is that once the it is finished, it will get e-published for anyone who wants to read it to be able to do so.  Now I read somewhere that e-publishing is separated from vanity publishing only a thin green line (e.g. you aren’t paying to publish) and I’m not sure I would argue that; I certainly will not claim to be Published should (when!  say ‘when’!) this is finished and e-published someplace.  That’s not what the Project is about.  This is a challenge to myself to write something to completion, and then I want to stick it somewhere where people who are interested can take a look at it and tell me what they think, and hopefully they will have enjoyed it or part of it or what have you.

Anyway I appreciate your indulgence in using you as a crutch to help keep myself on task.  I’m not entirely sure what I will write for updates but I’ll try to keep them readable.  With your assistance, this summer I will smoke this baby.


Word Count:  2,587.  This means I can take the next 2.5 days off!



Just kidding.