Not much fun from me today. Being German means that Christmas is tonight for me, so I’m frantically writing and wrapping. I’ve only missed one day of writing since Dec 1st and I’m aiming to keep it that way.
In the meantime, here’s a public service message I can get behind.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Quick update:
The MWF was good fun. Learned some interesting things, met some interesting folk. More details incoming later.
Also broke the 100,000 word mark on the Funfair story, which is nice, because I’m also up to the final scene. It’s like 100k was destined to be the first draft goal. Hitting 100k on my first novel took 30 months of writing. This time it only took 3 months and 2 days, which says a lot about how I’ve taken up proper writing routines since 2005. I’m putting it away after I get this scene done to concentrate on getting Weathermen ready for submission to agents, but I think it has promise lurking somewhere within all those mangled scenes.
And yes, my eyes are abominably tired. Bedtime ya’ll.
Okay, so:
I’m about to hit 100k with my Spooky Funfair novel – AKA “The little book that wouldn’t shut up.” It was only supposed to be a 40k children’s story to keep me occupied between drafts of Weathermen but it JUST WON’T STOP.
Also got a nice idea forming for a Running-Man esque sci-fi short set aboard the Titanic. I’ll have to slot ideas together over the next few days, but I think it has promise.
Finally – I’m attending the Melbourne Writers Festival tomorrow. I’m headed to a full day seminar called “The Whole Shebang” A quick blurb from the website:
In one event-crammed day you will: following the book’s journey through a publishing house with author Toni Jordan, editor Mandy Brett and publicist Bridie Riordan; get an overview of industry issues and organizations with Joel Becker (Victorian Writers’ Centre) and Jeremy Fisher (Australian Society of Authors); hear of the different paths writers can take to publication with novelists Susan Johnson and Simon Cleary find out how freelancers balance their creative and professional lives with David Astle; get tips on finding someone to publish your work from Kerrie Harrison (Wetink magazine), Aviva Tuffield (Scribe Publications) and Nikki Christer (Random House); and learn the value of having an agent from Jenny Darling.
I’m excited!
The first semester of 2nd year is over, and about damn time. The complete lack of sleep was getting more than tiresome – today I felt ready to collapse on my face from 6am onwards, and getting home after the hand-ins for a nap was a beautiful feeling.
Now, with 5 weeks of holidays ahead, it’s time to plan my writing.
First, I want to bust out the 1st draft of a new novella that I’ve been working on for the past few weeks. It’s a YA sci-fi horror mashup that sounds pretty silly even to me, but it could turn out decent with the right attention to detail.
Second, I have to rewrite What You Bring Back. A good friend of mine in Tasmania has given me some really good crits on how to redo it from scratch, so I’m going to put that into effect next week. Hopefully I’ll have it done in time to beat the latest Voiceworks deadline.
That being said, I’m off to have a bath.
Well, Neil Gaiman came to Melbourne yesterday and did a few appearances. Being a big fan, I made sure to turn up to every one.
He’s a funny fellow, Neil. He read to the crowd from his upcoming book “The Graveyard Book”, which sounded pretty damn fine, and answered a number of questions from the crowd. Seeing as I went to both his appearances and asked questions at every one, I think I accounted for 20% of his Q&A in Melbourne, which makes me feel a tad greedy.
Hearing Neil read his own prose was brilliant. He adds a tremendous amount of character to his stories, and it was pretty staggering how quickly he brings new characters to life with only a few lines. Something well worth analysing.
When we went up to get books signed I wanted to be a gusher and talk about how much he’s inspired me to keep writing. I wanted to go on and on about my own stories and plans. But I know he’s heard it a hundred times before, so I kept it all in check.
New resolution – I will get a book on Neil Gaiman’s desk and his comments on a cover of mine. I’ll do it. I will work my arse off until it happens.
Almost done now. The second draft came out at 117,000 words, which is a cut of almost 20k. Not bad, say I. Just doing some tightening in the first chapter, and then I’m sending it out to friends.
It feels good to have pushed through this. I know I can keep to the schedule of a professional writer now. The second step is to apply it.
Well, the end of the second draft.
Things are going slower than I’d like, but that’s life. It gets in the way. I start uni next week, and that’s going to be an even bigger crimp in my plans. But hey, I got most of the way through.
I won’t be posting up any more segments of Weathermen, not so close to the endgame. But when I finish, I’m happy to send the manuscript to people for some hardcore crits.
…is the SCIENCE.
When you’re writing for an audience who can pick apart all your future tech, things start getting hairy. You have to be meticulous. Unfortunately, I’m not meticulous. I bust out words and think later.
I studied Engineering for a year and a half before quitting university in Canberra and starting afresh in Melbourne with a much more interesting degree, and not very much of what I learned has stuck with me. Looking over a cheat-sheet I wrote up for a test yesterday was completely bewildering. I’m happy enough to remember how to calculate compound interest; load bearing stresses and the like can go get fucked.
So I hit a point in my editing a few days back where I realised I was stuck on science. Things I had written in the first draft – things that are VITAL to the story – simply weren’t possible. Ever. Sure, there are aspects I can fake by just saying “Hey, it’s the future! Future things happen!” but there is no way a can of beans is going to survive for two thousand years. No way at all.
So.
I put in a call to a good friend of mine in Canberra; the man that got me into Engineering in the first place, and who has just concluded his PhD in some obscure field involving a four-rotor helicopter design (I’ve seen his thesis. It’s ever so pretty). And, after a good afternoon of work, we’ve nutted out the problem. It means major parts of Weathermen will be changed, but I think I can manage the workarounds. And in the end, you won’t be left reading the story and bitching about the oxide collapse of aluminium.
The question for anyone who comments: when you write, and you hit a sticky problem, where do you turn? A knowledgeable friend? Wikipedia? Or do you just give logic the finger?
After reading David Rochester’s blog and being totally bowled over by some of his 50 word fiction pieces, I’ve decided to give them a go again. They’re damn good practice for only writing what needs to be written. Very simple concept: try and contain a story (character, setting, plot) within 50 words (as opposed to just busting out a snippet of a scene).
I’m going to be doing these pretty regularly. Any feedback you have is massively appreciated. Just to allay any confusion, these are completely unrelated.
— — —
They say there are complications. They look at him like he’s dirty and touch him with gloved hands. He didn’t ask for this. He hates them. Nobody answers his questions. Is he an animal to them?
They need to learn to respect. He knows a guy who knows a guy.
Closing time. Kate lifts the dirty saucer and there it is. Cold plastic. The raised lettering feels alien under her fingers. Hologram twinkles in the café lights. Mastercard.
She glances around as she palms it, slips it into her apron pocket. Heart tight as a drum. Nobody sees. She hopes.
“Will you kill him?”
“Yeah,” I say. It’s a bluff. I don’t even know how to load the thing.
Weber wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You should make him beg.”
“Yeah.” The gun shakes in my grip. This is stupid. It was only a grand. “Yeah.”
She sees the spark jump from socket to finger and has time enough to feel fear. The stepladder tips over. Her head slaps the floor with a hollow sound.
People crowd around. They’re blocking the light. Her lungs hitch and burn. I’m drowning in air, she realises. That’s not fair.
Linda watches him replace the book on the shelf. His knuckles are hairy. He smiles a perfect smile and looks into her eyes like he knows her.
It’s just like the movies.
That night she lays her glasses on the bedside table and reaches down under the covers and imagines.
Old bones. Old eyes. It’s hard to watch the road. Things blur by so fast. The headlights catch cat’s eyes. At night, the road is a landing strip.
Seventy years of dying slowly. He can’t walk up stairs, but he can slam the accelerator. His hands come off the wheel.
She imagines she can feel the cold through her suit, but she can’t. All in the head. The sun breaks over distant mountains. It looks different in this atmosphere. Crisper.
She takes the first step. Red dust drifts slowly around her boots. The prints will remain after she is dead.
The customer in the blue suit thrusts a knife at John’s face. He squeals and twists away. The man’s eyes are calm. Light catches the blade. “All the money. Now.”
He opens the register and hands the cash over. As the man runs out John realises he has an erection.
Sirens. He looks out the window. The street below is smothered in shadow. He looks up. His pants fill with hot urine.
The sky is blocked by rippling metal. Lights. Hatches and vents and portholes. The floor is humming through his shoes. “Too soon,” he says, and everything goes white.
It has been so long, sitting in the darkness. Months. The manacles chafe. She can’t remember her name anymore.
Something squeals in the basement. Echoes hurt. There is no light. The door is locked and sealed. Nothing gets out. The concrete is so cold.
When will he just kill her?
The 2nd draft rolls on! Three chapters left to go (unfortunately, 5 and 7 are the longest, probably around 25,000 words each. Jesus Christ.)
So yeah. Another snippet after the cut. Happy Valentines Day, folks!
