Wednesday, August 30
Because matociquala said "blog that sentence":
*****
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: About a hundred words. Argh!
Comments: Bad writing week so far, due to a combination of a character I hadn't thought out fully, insomnia, and overwork. I think I've managed a total of 200 words since Monday. Life sucks.
Snips: From this weekend, when the writing was good:
"Child, think what you're saying. You've just accused me of being a hired killer. If you're wrong -- which you are -- then I would be extraordinarily insulted -- which I am. And if you're right, how exactly do you imagine a real hired killer responding?"
Endice opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Think carefully," said Elliot. "Let me know if you come up with anything pleasant."
katfeete: DUDE. "The Woman in White" weighs in at 250,000 words. Word processor count.
HiddenAgenda17: ow
katfeete: Ah, if only we still lived in the Victorian era, where men were real men, books were real puppykillers, and novelists were paid by the word.
*****
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: About a hundred words. Argh!
Comments: Bad writing week so far, due to a combination of a character I hadn't thought out fully, insomnia, and overwork. I think I've managed a total of 200 words since Monday. Life sucks.
Snips: From this weekend, when the writing was good:
"Child, think what you're saying. You've just accused me of being a hired killer. If you're wrong -- which you are -- then I would be extraordinarily insulted -- which I am. And if you're right, how exactly do you imagine a real hired killer responding?"
Endice opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Think carefully," said Elliot. "Let me know if you come up with anything pleasant."
Thursday, August 24
So I was on the road today, doing deliveries, when I passed... Route 666.
Yup. The Road to Hell exists, and it's about five miles out of Hillsville, Virginia. I couldn't tell whether it was paved with good intentions. A quick sideways glance suggested dead dinosaurs, just like the rest of America.
I wanted to share the infernal moment with Dan, but he was napping, and Hell hath no fury like a Dan awakened merely to look at Cool Stuff.
It got me thinking, though, about the Number of the Beast. This is one of the things we all know, bits of devilish lore as it were, but what does it actually mean?
So I visited my friend Wiki and my friend Google and came up with this.
Number of the Beast, The. Six hundred sixty six, "Six hundred threescore and six" according to the King James Bible. Or six hundred and sixteen according to the oldest known version of the verse, but this never really caught on. The Bible, like everything else, is subject to market forces, and 616 just ain't as catchy as 666.
Most people know what the Number of the Beast is, but not what the Number of the Beast means. The most cursory research reveals a reason for this: it appears in Revelation, which is the book of the Bible where God got generous with the mushrooms. Revelation 13 is not an easy read for anyone not on the same Volkswagen bus as John, but the gist of it seems to be: there's, like, this really evil beast, with seven heads, ten horns, the body of a leopard, the feet of a bear, and the mouth of a lion. But he's not the really really evil beast. That's the beast that heals the first beast, or maybe he made the first beast, or maybe the first beast isn't real at all but an image made to look like it's alive by the first beast -- look, that's not important, 'kay? The important bit is that the second beast is gonna put a mark on everybody, and unless they can, like, show the mark, they can't buy or sell anything, right? Totally evil! And the mark's a number, and the number is -- get this -- 666!
At this point, kind friends ought to have taken John away and given him some water and food and maybe a nice squeaky toy to play with until the pretty colors went away. But no, he wrote another nine chapters for Biblical scholars to spend upward of a millenium banging their heads on.
They've come up with some pretty interesting theories. Protestants have claimed that the Catholic Pope wears a phrase that equates to "666" on his tiara. More historical scholars have suggested that it refers to one of two Roman emperors, Nero and Diocletian. Modern theorists have variously identified the "mark" as a credit card, a social security number, a microchip, or a barcode. Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the beast refers to any human government. Other folks, with less scholarship but more confidence, have announced that the beast is paganism, the anti-Christ, Islam, Nazis, Ronald Reagan, and pretty much any government which has held enough power to be called "empire", with various clever ways of finding "666" associated with their target.
But the fact is, no one knows what the heck John was going on about, and no one knows what "the number of the beast" is, aside from a really nifty catchphrase for religious folks to shout about, superstitious people to obsess over, and heavy metal bands to advertise their rebellion with. It could be almost anything, from the demented rantings of a mushroom-eater to the demented rantings of a genuine psychic who'd gotten a look at a future utterly alien to him* to the demented rantings of a prophet who was, perhaps, too heavily touched by the finger of God to the not-so-demented rantings of a man writing in code to keep the nice soldiers from knocking down his door and dragging him off to play with the lions. No one's got a friggin' clue. And until we do, 666 is, and remains, just a number.
****
Hey, that was fun. Must spam the internets with more of this stuff sometime.
* Incidentally, a liberal reinterpretation of the Book of Revelation would make a kickass cyberpunk novel. I'm just sayin'.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 404 words. Bah!
Comments: Crappy writing day. Of course, the fact that I was grumpy and snappy and spent a lot of time trying to fall asleep on various available surfaces/appliances/people suggests that the problem was not really with the book. Have decided to scrap the series of scenes that were supposed to be next and replace them with a series of scenes where stuff actually happens, which means revising the outline, but I don't wanna. See grumpy, snappy, etc.
Snips: "I sincerely hope you're lying through your teeth about my being above suspicion," Edison said dryly, "or I shall have to revise my opinion of you downwards."
Yup. The Road to Hell exists, and it's about five miles out of Hillsville, Virginia. I couldn't tell whether it was paved with good intentions. A quick sideways glance suggested dead dinosaurs, just like the rest of America.
I wanted to share the infernal moment with Dan, but he was napping, and Hell hath no fury like a Dan awakened merely to look at Cool Stuff.
It got me thinking, though, about the Number of the Beast. This is one of the things we all know, bits of devilish lore as it were, but what does it actually mean?
So I visited my friend Wiki and my friend Google and came up with this.
Number of the Beast, The. Six hundred sixty six, "Six hundred threescore and six" according to the King James Bible. Or six hundred and sixteen according to the oldest known version of the verse, but this never really caught on. The Bible, like everything else, is subject to market forces, and 616 just ain't as catchy as 666.
Most people know what the Number of the Beast is, but not what the Number of the Beast means. The most cursory research reveals a reason for this: it appears in Revelation, which is the book of the Bible where God got generous with the mushrooms. Revelation 13 is not an easy read for anyone not on the same Volkswagen bus as John, but the gist of it seems to be: there's, like, this really evil beast, with seven heads, ten horns, the body of a leopard, the feet of a bear, and the mouth of a lion. But he's not the really really evil beast. That's the beast that heals the first beast, or maybe he made the first beast, or maybe the first beast isn't real at all but an image made to look like it's alive by the first beast -- look, that's not important, 'kay? The important bit is that the second beast is gonna put a mark on everybody, and unless they can, like, show the mark, they can't buy or sell anything, right? Totally evil! And the mark's a number, and the number is -- get this -- 666!
At this point, kind friends ought to have taken John away and given him some water and food and maybe a nice squeaky toy to play with until the pretty colors went away. But no, he wrote another nine chapters for Biblical scholars to spend upward of a millenium banging their heads on.
They've come up with some pretty interesting theories. Protestants have claimed that the Catholic Pope wears a phrase that equates to "666" on his tiara. More historical scholars have suggested that it refers to one of two Roman emperors, Nero and Diocletian. Modern theorists have variously identified the "mark" as a credit card, a social security number, a microchip, or a barcode. Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the beast refers to any human government. Other folks, with less scholarship but more confidence, have announced that the beast is paganism, the anti-Christ, Islam, Nazis, Ronald Reagan, and pretty much any government which has held enough power to be called "empire", with various clever ways of finding "666" associated with their target.
But the fact is, no one knows what the heck John was going on about, and no one knows what "the number of the beast" is, aside from a really nifty catchphrase for religious folks to shout about, superstitious people to obsess over, and heavy metal bands to advertise their rebellion with. It could be almost anything, from the demented rantings of a mushroom-eater to the demented rantings of a genuine psychic who'd gotten a look at a future utterly alien to him* to the demented rantings of a prophet who was, perhaps, too heavily touched by the finger of God to the not-so-demented rantings of a man writing in code to keep the nice soldiers from knocking down his door and dragging him off to play with the lions. No one's got a friggin' clue. And until we do, 666 is, and remains, just a number.
****
Hey, that was fun. Must spam the internets with more of this stuff sometime.
* Incidentally, a liberal reinterpretation of the Book of Revelation would make a kickass cyberpunk novel. I'm just sayin'.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 404 words. Bah!
Comments: Crappy writing day. Of course, the fact that I was grumpy and snappy and spent a lot of time trying to fall asleep on various available surfaces/appliances/people suggests that the problem was not really with the book. Have decided to scrap the series of scenes that were supposed to be next and replace them with a series of scenes where stuff actually happens, which means revising the outline, but I don't wanna. See grumpy, snappy, etc.
Snips: "I sincerely hope you're lying through your teeth about my being above suspicion," Edison said dryly, "or I shall have to revise my opinion of you downwards."
Wednesday, August 23
Signs that two people should maybe not be allowed to reproduce: a recent pre-dinner conversation.
Dan: Well, it *smells* good, but it's doesn't look anything like the picture. Theirs is all in neat little rolls and mine's all scrambled.
Me: I'm sure it'll be fine.
Dan: I think it's fine, just kinda chaotic.
Me: ... so we're having chaotic neutral dinner?
Dan: Well, I'm hoping it's chaotic good dinner.
Me: I haven't tasted it yet. That's why it's neutral.
***
We're going to the special hell.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 617 words.
Comments: Wow. Three days and I'm already to the "my writing sucks! This story is too good for me!" stage. I've never hit it so soon before. Progress!
Snips: My writing sucks! This story is too good for me!
Dan: Well, it *smells* good, but it's doesn't look anything like the picture. Theirs is all in neat little rolls and mine's all scrambled.
Me: I'm sure it'll be fine.
Dan: I think it's fine, just kinda chaotic.
Me: ... so we're having chaotic neutral dinner?
Dan: Well, I'm hoping it's chaotic good dinner.
Me: I haven't tasted it yet. That's why it's neutral.
***
We're going to the special hell.
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 617 words.
Comments: Wow. Three days and I'm already to the "my writing sucks! This story is too good for me!" stage. I've never hit it so soon before. Progress!
Snips: My writing sucks! This story is too good for me!
Tuesday, August 22
So Dan and I are looking at attending the World Fantasy convention, which is in Austin, Texas this year. On the one hand, it's expensive, and between Death of a Car and Importation of a Canuck we're not exactly rolling in cash. On the other hand, it's a chance to get the fuck out of Nowheresville, VA, see friends, talk to fellow geeks, and generally up our chances of passing roll vs. sanity checks for the next wee bit.
On the third hand... it's expensive.
So I'm appealing to the Internet in general and the Austinites in specific for advice on cutting corners here. Does anyone:
- Know of someone selling WF memberships at less (even if slightly) than the current $150 asking price?
- Know of anyone looking for a roommate at WF? Alternatively, know of crash space or cheap hotels somewhere in the vicinity of the con, with halfway decent transport (we will be flying, not driving, so this is a must.)
- Have anything to say about flying into the larger airports (Dallas, San Antonio) and then bussing/catching a ride to Austin? It's generally cheaper air fares, but I ain't exactly looking forward to a couple hours on Greyhound.
- Have any other tips?
Thank you, oh great Internet!
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 585 words. Almost exactly the same as yesterday. Odd.
Comments: Not really. It's sort of all quietly clunking into place without fanfare, which is nice.
Snips: There were now four women watching them from the upper story, two light and two dark, wearing varying expressions of horror and contempt. William, who had also spotted them, appeared to be trying to hide behind his valet.
On the third hand... it's expensive.
So I'm appealing to the Internet in general and the Austinites in specific for advice on cutting corners here. Does anyone:
- Know of someone selling WF memberships at less (even if slightly) than the current $150 asking price?
- Know of anyone looking for a roommate at WF? Alternatively, know of crash space or cheap hotels somewhere in the vicinity of the con, with halfway decent transport (we will be flying, not driving, so this is a must.)
- Have anything to say about flying into the larger airports (Dallas, San Antonio) and then bussing/catching a ride to Austin? It's generally cheaper air fares, but I ain't exactly looking forward to a couple hours on Greyhound.
- Have any other tips?
Thank you, oh great Internet!
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 585 words. Almost exactly the same as yesterday. Odd.
Comments: Not really. It's sort of all quietly clunking into place without fanfare, which is nice.
Snips: There were now four women watching them from the upper story, two light and two dark, wearing varying expressions of horror and contempt. William, who had also spotted them, appeared to be trying to hide behind his valet.
Monday, August 21
Reasons I haven't been posting lately:
1) Work. One of our cheeses won an award at the American Cheese Society, which is a big deal, and we've been doing a slow but steady upward climb in sales since. The sane response would be happiness, but this is my family, so we all panic instead. Panic!
Also, we now have about 4000 pounds of cheese pre-ordered for delivery in the last three months of the year. This means making 4000 pounds of cheese plus enough for our regular customers NOW. Panic!
And all this would be great except, due to the incompetence and untrustworthiness of building contractors and plumbers, we don't have the new cellar done, which means we don't have anywhere to put the 4000 pounds of cheese we are making because we signed contracts to provide it.
Panic! No, really this time.
The solution has been to hire a refrigerated truck for a month and stack our older, more stable, done-aging cheeses in it.* I spent much of the morning doing that. It is cold. And big. And has no lights, so it's really dark and scary when some right bastard closes the door on you because he thinks it's funny. (Dan? You are SO sleeping on the couch tonight, you twit.)
Also, we rented it from a guy who sells wreaths at Christmas and has no use for the truck the rest of the year, so it smells faintly of pine. This isn't unpleasant, just odd. I keep getting urges to sing Christmas carols while stacking cheese.
2) Toys. First it was writing interactive fiction games. Then, due largely to the insidious time-waster that is Nexus War, I got to playing with PHP and trying to code a game that way. I am such a geek. Dan's no help; when I appeal to him he looks at the code scrolling across my screen, shrugs, and says, "Love? You are such a geek." So it's unanimous, and I'm doomed. Geek!
3) Writing. As mentioned before, I started playing around with a story idea largely because I was curious about Forward Motion's Two-Year Novel Class (side note: the class itself is tres cool. You should check out the ebook version) and, to my utter surprise, the damned thing worked. The last eight months have been worldbuilding, characters, and outline, and as of this morning I have started actually writing it. It's utterly impractical -- my current working description is "neo-Victorian far-future biotech humor novel" -- but I am cautiously excited about it, if for no other reason than it's completely different from anything else I've tried to write. The goal is to finish sometime in March. We'll see how I do.
And this is a good thing, since I just got another rejection from the one agent who still had a partial of Harmony Station. Not that I'm going to stop sending Harmony out, but it's good for the ego to have a project you feel optimistic about sitting on the hard drive while the last project you felt optimistic about is getting the marketing shot out of it.
And that's... er, well, I'd say all the news that isn't, but really it's more like me running out of excuses. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.
* Refrigerated trucks are apparently, in the business, known as "reefers". It says a lot about the workplace that the management (aka my parents) finds this deeply amusing and have spent a lot of the last week dancing around shouting "Reefer! Reefer! Evergreen-flavored reefer!" Actually, that says just about everything about my workplace.
-------
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 586 words. Obviously. The daily goal is 500.
Comments: This is the first opening scene where I sat down and calmly worked out what would be the best "hook" for this story, what elements I wanted clear from the beginning, what I needed in there to intrigue readers, et cetera. I did not do this to be mercantile and calculating; I did it because I'm bad at beginnings at the best of times and this one was completely kicking my fuckin' ass.
The results are not bad. Maybe I'll try being calculating more often instead of as a last resort.
Snips: First lines:
There were many things, Elliot reflected, that could be done to make a favorable first impression on the people he had come to investigate. His assistant provoking the butler to violence in the first thirty seconds was not one of them.
1) Work. One of our cheeses won an award at the American Cheese Society, which is a big deal, and we've been doing a slow but steady upward climb in sales since. The sane response would be happiness, but this is my family, so we all panic instead. Panic!
Also, we now have about 4000 pounds of cheese pre-ordered for delivery in the last three months of the year. This means making 4000 pounds of cheese plus enough for our regular customers NOW. Panic!
And all this would be great except, due to the incompetence and untrustworthiness of building contractors and plumbers, we don't have the new cellar done, which means we don't have anywhere to put the 4000 pounds of cheese we are making because we signed contracts to provide it.
Panic! No, really this time.
The solution has been to hire a refrigerated truck for a month and stack our older, more stable, done-aging cheeses in it.* I spent much of the morning doing that. It is cold. And big. And has no lights, so it's really dark and scary when some right bastard closes the door on you because he thinks it's funny. (Dan? You are SO sleeping on the couch tonight, you twit.)
Also, we rented it from a guy who sells wreaths at Christmas and has no use for the truck the rest of the year, so it smells faintly of pine. This isn't unpleasant, just odd. I keep getting urges to sing Christmas carols while stacking cheese.
2) Toys. First it was writing interactive fiction games. Then, due largely to the insidious time-waster that is Nexus War, I got to playing with PHP and trying to code a game that way. I am such a geek. Dan's no help; when I appeal to him he looks at the code scrolling across my screen, shrugs, and says, "Love? You are such a geek." So it's unanimous, and I'm doomed. Geek!
3) Writing. As mentioned before, I started playing around with a story idea largely because I was curious about Forward Motion's Two-Year Novel Class (side note: the class itself is tres cool. You should check out the ebook version) and, to my utter surprise, the damned thing worked. The last eight months have been worldbuilding, characters, and outline, and as of this morning I have started actually writing it. It's utterly impractical -- my current working description is "neo-Victorian far-future biotech humor novel" -- but I am cautiously excited about it, if for no other reason than it's completely different from anything else I've tried to write. The goal is to finish sometime in March. We'll see how I do.
And this is a good thing, since I just got another rejection from the one agent who still had a partial of Harmony Station. Not that I'm going to stop sending Harmony out, but it's good for the ego to have a project you feel optimistic about sitting on the hard drive while the last project you felt optimistic about is getting the marketing shot out of it.
And that's... er, well, I'd say all the news that isn't, but really it's more like me running out of excuses. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.
* Refrigerated trucks are apparently, in the business, known as "reefers". It says a lot about the workplace that the management (aka my parents) finds this deeply amusing and have spent a lot of the last week dancing around shouting "Reefer! Reefer! Evergreen-flavored reefer!" Actually, that says just about everything about my workplace.
-------
Writing Progress:
Today's Progress: 586 words. Obviously. The daily goal is 500.
Comments: This is the first opening scene where I sat down and calmly worked out what would be the best "hook" for this story, what elements I wanted clear from the beginning, what I needed in there to intrigue readers, et cetera. I did not do this to be mercantile and calculating; I did it because I'm bad at beginnings at the best of times and this one was completely kicking my fuckin' ass.
The results are not bad. Maybe I'll try being calculating more often instead of as a last resort.
Snips: First lines:
There were many things, Elliot reflected, that could be done to make a favorable first impression on the people he had come to investigate. His assistant provoking the butler to violence in the first thirty seconds was not one of them.
Friday, August 04
Quick note for the writers on my list: I've started a new blog, PubStalker, which (as the title suggests) is a log of my attempts to figure out who the heck is buying what in the specfic market. There's already RSS and I'll probably get it syndicated to LJ before too long. If you think it might be of interest to you, head over and take a look.
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