Not Angel and not Angelica, but that one was close. Both choices were close, and this gave me a lot of brain farts and frustration. I just could not settle on Angel, Angelica, or Angela.
Angel just made me think of Buffy all the time, and i just couldn't stick with it. Yeah, i think Angel is the smoothest, but just can't shake that feeling I'm ripping off Buffy. Angelica was always a default choice for me, it makes me think of RugRats.
It had to be ANgela, a cross between Night of the Demons and SLeepaway camp. Two movies that will always be with me, and so there it is, my homage to two great movies. Angela Del Mara, i think you are just wonderful in the beast that is chapter 3 subsection A, B, and C.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Chapter 12 & 13
I'm a blaze of fury today that knows no limit. AKA, the editing is going good. SO good that I've decided to take a quickie breather, and tell you about it.
Besides the mundane of adding forgotten commas, i was able to flesh out Vasili's character. This had been one of my deep down worries, I like my villain, and love his name. Purposely, he only has one or two real scenes, the rest are more focused on who he's with. Chapters 12 and 13, he spends time with some witches. Mombi, rightly so, is the star of these chapters, her last appearance unless i need her again, and so far i don't. Unless you read Land of Oz, seen the HBO cartoon, or saw the movie Return to Oz, you have no idea who Mombi is. The parts i take to explain to the reader who she is are nothing short of fantastic in my view. I love them, and her role in the beginning is on point, and really digs down to the type of person Mombi is. All I'm going to say is that i channel a little Ayn Rand when putting her into this role. The wizard and Vasili are the moochers to her productive soul. It works, trust me. Thanks to the militia of political second hand feeders, Randian references are all over the place. Please, let me assure you that i have no intention of using the resemblance to further some political goal. They are only used to accent what a hard worker Mombi is, a contradiction you say, then i have a parade for you to go to, and it wont be a fun one.
Damn, talk about being all over the place. Let's get back to what i was discussing, Vasili. I know who he is, and what his intentions are, but I'm starting to wonder about a few things. Should i keep his real identity a secret throughout the whole work. It's an idea I'm warming up to, and the decision may have already been made. Vasili will join the ranks of The Haunting, and you will forever wonder if he is what you think he is, or maybe your imagination will fetch up something better.
I did find a three page bit with the Upstairs President that really belongs elsewhere. To the notepad i go.
It doesn't make much sense, but these chapters really signal a marked progress towards the beginning of the end. I'm going to have to do a little skimming, and see if these twin pieces are better suited a hundred pages down the line. I'm not sure. It might be better to break them up, but it just may upset the apple cart about something that only I'm worried about. A good majority of my worries become unfounded when editing.
Oh well, that's it for now.
Besides the mundane of adding forgotten commas, i was able to flesh out Vasili's character. This had been one of my deep down worries, I like my villain, and love his name. Purposely, he only has one or two real scenes, the rest are more focused on who he's with. Chapters 12 and 13, he spends time with some witches. Mombi, rightly so, is the star of these chapters, her last appearance unless i need her again, and so far i don't. Unless you read Land of Oz, seen the HBO cartoon, or saw the movie Return to Oz, you have no idea who Mombi is. The parts i take to explain to the reader who she is are nothing short of fantastic in my view. I love them, and her role in the beginning is on point, and really digs down to the type of person Mombi is. All I'm going to say is that i channel a little Ayn Rand when putting her into this role. The wizard and Vasili are the moochers to her productive soul. It works, trust me. Thanks to the militia of political second hand feeders, Randian references are all over the place. Please, let me assure you that i have no intention of using the resemblance to further some political goal. They are only used to accent what a hard worker Mombi is, a contradiction you say, then i have a parade for you to go to, and it wont be a fun one.
Damn, talk about being all over the place. Let's get back to what i was discussing, Vasili. I know who he is, and what his intentions are, but I'm starting to wonder about a few things. Should i keep his real identity a secret throughout the whole work. It's an idea I'm warming up to, and the decision may have already been made. Vasili will join the ranks of The Haunting, and you will forever wonder if he is what you think he is, or maybe your imagination will fetch up something better.
I did find a three page bit with the Upstairs President that really belongs elsewhere. To the notepad i go.
It doesn't make much sense, but these chapters really signal a marked progress towards the beginning of the end. I'm going to have to do a little skimming, and see if these twin pieces are better suited a hundred pages down the line. I'm not sure. It might be better to break them up, but it just may upset the apple cart about something that only I'm worried about. A good majority of my worries become unfounded when editing.
Oh well, that's it for now.
Towards another synopsis Part One
Since I'm not quite ready to dive into Chapter 20, i thought working on a new synopsis would be a good idea. At least before I get back to cleaning house. For Valentines day, a couple romantic techno tracks. Which sounds like the same music, but just with titles like Love Romance Pepper.
I can accurately lay out my chores for this book. There are the last four chapter I mentioned yesterday, and the last round of editing or the third draft. The way i look at it, the final draft will be the easiest. Seventy five percent of it will be grammar and sentence structure. It may sound a bit tedious, but it really isn't. Leaving myself some breathing room, i doubt if I'll be rewriting twenty five percent of the book. Don't think so. It usually begins with a slight apprehension about the quality of the pages I'm about to edit, but after a few minutes, I see there's no problem. Crazy? You betcha (sorry)
Mechanics sound good? Now what's it about?
Well with my reading background, it was always going to be something with Adventure. I have read a fair bit of Romance in my life, but that's neither here nor there. There weren't going to be any monsters, then there were. As far as self contained, it wasn't going to be. This is the part where you usually have to make some point, especially if you want to make one. Is the word I'm looking for grand?
No matter how far you run, your destination will be slightly beyond your grasp. It's begins with seedy morals, and an ambitious quest. Years ago one man became king, and set in motion events that would cross time and space. I've been watching Dark Shadows, sorry. Just accept the fact, it hurt me more than it hurt you. Seriously, we're treated to an upstart king, a political science major on the run, one of those failed last ditch efforts, and an airship. Once things calm down, we're treated to a train traveling south through barely lit farm country, as the main actor arrives at his small university setting. Off the train, there are two treats, a forcibly imposed adventurous prelude, and a new friendly face to take him out drinking.
Before i go any further, let me say something about the different types of adventure. This isn't going to be dungeons or dragons, I don't think there are any swords in it, but there is a wizard. Just not the type you're thinking of. I doubt any of the people are interested in making the world a better place. Well maybe one person is, but he has to ditch his fantastical obligations before he can even think of home based devilry.
If i had to pick a type, I'd tell you about Vertigo Comics, and what do i say right away, an issue about a woman off her meds. They were for fear of heights. The type goes good with my sarcastic hand. A man intent on living a quiet life constantly making choices that contradict that goal. Then finding himself with extra normal abilities, and the imposition of the type of people it attracts. In the process, i have created a bit of a universe. From one prisoner escaping, came the collusion of two worlds. The borders are opening.
Alright, this is not going to be as full as i had intended. Which means the other editing is going great. I will see you all next time.
I can accurately lay out my chores for this book. There are the last four chapter I mentioned yesterday, and the last round of editing or the third draft. The way i look at it, the final draft will be the easiest. Seventy five percent of it will be grammar and sentence structure. It may sound a bit tedious, but it really isn't. Leaving myself some breathing room, i doubt if I'll be rewriting twenty five percent of the book. Don't think so. It usually begins with a slight apprehension about the quality of the pages I'm about to edit, but after a few minutes, I see there's no problem. Crazy? You betcha (sorry)
Mechanics sound good? Now what's it about?
Well with my reading background, it was always going to be something with Adventure. I have read a fair bit of Romance in my life, but that's neither here nor there. There weren't going to be any monsters, then there were. As far as self contained, it wasn't going to be. This is the part where you usually have to make some point, especially if you want to make one. Is the word I'm looking for grand?
No matter how far you run, your destination will be slightly beyond your grasp. It's begins with seedy morals, and an ambitious quest. Years ago one man became king, and set in motion events that would cross time and space. I've been watching Dark Shadows, sorry. Just accept the fact, it hurt me more than it hurt you. Seriously, we're treated to an upstart king, a political science major on the run, one of those failed last ditch efforts, and an airship. Once things calm down, we're treated to a train traveling south through barely lit farm country, as the main actor arrives at his small university setting. Off the train, there are two treats, a forcibly imposed adventurous prelude, and a new friendly face to take him out drinking.
Before i go any further, let me say something about the different types of adventure. This isn't going to be dungeons or dragons, I don't think there are any swords in it, but there is a wizard. Just not the type you're thinking of. I doubt any of the people are interested in making the world a better place. Well maybe one person is, but he has to ditch his fantastical obligations before he can even think of home based devilry.
If i had to pick a type, I'd tell you about Vertigo Comics, and what do i say right away, an issue about a woman off her meds. They were for fear of heights. The type goes good with my sarcastic hand. A man intent on living a quiet life constantly making choices that contradict that goal. Then finding himself with extra normal abilities, and the imposition of the type of people it attracts. In the process, i have created a bit of a universe. From one prisoner escaping, came the collusion of two worlds. The borders are opening.
Alright, this is not going to be as full as i had intended. Which means the other editing is going great. I will see you all next time.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
First post of 2010
Being sick and procrastination go hand in hand, and to prove that, i will now take a half hour pause simultaneously blow my nose, and listen to Russian pop music. My only consolation is that i will be listening to this as a write, it's something. See you in a few decades worth of minutes.
Back, and only the span of a dog's potty break, and my cigarette separate us. Doesn't the mucus membrane of closeness reverberate all around us, anyways.
Today, i devote my mental meanderings to Chapters 19 & 20. One of the things that worries me is my reliance on dialogue. It's one boast i will allow myself, i think I'm pretty slick and witty with the conversations between my characters. Reminding me of this woman i knew, she happened to be handy with narrative/acting directions, but her dialogue was the pits, a handful of fuck you(s), and yes pleases litter my memory like a bad night of boozing and crouching in the bushes.
Ah yes, conversations, i donated a chapter back in the mid-section to conversations, but thankfully, I now know they are going to be divvied up, and scattered to where they are better needed, like towards the end. That little convenient nugget, and my rough outline for the rest of Chapter 20 has saved my ass from possibly having to write two hundred more pages. Chapter 20, depending how much i get done this weekend, should be completed no later than the end of the month. There's a little bit of counting my chickens before they are hatched, but the worry is more not less. I still may need to flesh out Mark Tavers a bit more, he probably needs one more chapter to get his personality through, the trials of an unwieldy cast.
Hmmm, that would be four chapters within a hundred pages, it does seem a bit tight. AH well, hope springs eternal, especially if you're a voter. One chapter for Mark, one for Jake and Chad (which is started), one for the conclusion of the events at Southern, and the last chapter at O'Hare. That doesn't even count the interludes, but these are usually short, or they should be short, God knows i try, but sometimes these things write themselves.
I'm not sure if i've really hashed out what was in Chapter 19, but it's another Government under the stairs chapter, and so is Chapter 20, predominately. I'm going to go into 20, and see if i can squeeze in some bits for Mark, and save myself a little effort. Putting both chapters together, the split between action and dialogue is 50/50, that shouldn't change too much if i end the chapter with a little traveling.
I'm getting better at talking about the project without giving up any of the secrets. But as they say, spoilers on, but you needn't worry, it won't be too bad. Rebecca Fastet is in Chicago to study/bag Mark Tavers before he becomes to comfortable with his abilities, joined by Christie Reyes, they meet up to go over the case, and the various anxieties that go along with battling your victims ghost and superpowers. At this point, i don't know if Mark will be alive at the end, but it doesn't really matter because there is more involved than a wiz who can talk to and control machines, imagine what he can do at an airport, and you have part of my last chapter. BUt there's more, Rebecca knows about the door buried deep in the bowels of the Terminals where the pilots stash their belongings, and are treated to discounted bacon and eggs. Through these tunnels, deep down where the furnace boils, warming a small city, is the door. The door Rain/Ozma is desperately dragging Jake Fastet towards, but what will he think when he sees his mother waiting for him. It is another reason, she's in Chicago, knowing that the calamity down at Southern will not contain him, and the only thing to do is wait for him to show up, and the door will open.
Dammit, I'm talking about the end of the book, and not the chapters, good job. But this is something I've been free with since the beginning of the book. You realize after the first fifty pages, i hope, that while documenting what happened down South, Jake and his fictitious partners in magic and virtue are making their way up North to Chicago in order to begin the next leg of this journey. Forced to recount his misadventures to a person he doesn't believe in, his trip back up North, covered in the interludes, is discomforting to anyone traveling a virtuous path.
But that's not the point, as you can see, i have very little control over these things. Once again, I'm all over the place, and can't get my topic straight. For those who have heard me speak in public, you'll know what i mean.
Rebbecca uses scientific wizardry to access the special project the downstairs president wants her to see. They've finally gotten some control over their pet monsters, and have burrowed a tunnel from underneath Washington DC to some Podunk coal mining town in Northern Virginia, YEAH GEOGRAPHY CLASS. Don't tread too deeply in the coalmines where the zombies roam, but i lie, they aren't in the coalmine, but you don't really need to know too much. A bit of action, commentary, and some lore, good stuff. And remember disgruntled reader, it's only a device nothing more. Once the show is done, Christie walks in, and they begin to go over the Mark Tavers case. There is a lot of recriminations over Christi's attitude, but she has just been mugged my a ghost, and is very stressed over the constant threats to her life by means she's not used to, she's used to be shot at with bullets. To face the antisocial verbal and powered retorts of Jake Fastet has left her disgruntled. Rebbecca, who still desires to use her cover when confronted with her son, talks her down.
BLAH BLAH BLAH more good vibes, or machinations/exposition, and presto, we're ready to get to work, maybe. The end of the chapter is a little unclear, as they discuss each of the projects, we'll flash to the victims, and get a little endtimes mojo going. That's really all there is to it as i hobble towards the airport, and try to figure out who'll get there.
With the events of my last interlude, i've left myself a window to winnow some people out, not permanently, but just long enough to have a clear concise ending.
Let me just leave it with a few more words. Last night, I worked late for dinner and a movie, we saw Valentines Day. What a large, disorganized cast of characters, and I'm sitting there waiting for each of their storyline's to be tied up. That old friend paranoia stopped by, but i told him to get lost. As otherworldly as it may be, i still have a plot, no matter how many people are involved. Just not as many people that were in Valentine's Day. Who was the kind of rugged man? That was Ashton Kutchner. Oh, nevermind.
I'm done.
Back, and only the span of a dog's potty break, and my cigarette separate us. Doesn't the mucus membrane of closeness reverberate all around us, anyways.
Today, i devote my mental meanderings to Chapters 19 & 20. One of the things that worries me is my reliance on dialogue. It's one boast i will allow myself, i think I'm pretty slick and witty with the conversations between my characters. Reminding me of this woman i knew, she happened to be handy with narrative/acting directions, but her dialogue was the pits, a handful of fuck you(s), and yes pleases litter my memory like a bad night of boozing and crouching in the bushes.
Ah yes, conversations, i donated a chapter back in the mid-section to conversations, but thankfully, I now know they are going to be divvied up, and scattered to where they are better needed, like towards the end. That little convenient nugget, and my rough outline for the rest of Chapter 20 has saved my ass from possibly having to write two hundred more pages. Chapter 20, depending how much i get done this weekend, should be completed no later than the end of the month. There's a little bit of counting my chickens before they are hatched, but the worry is more not less. I still may need to flesh out Mark Tavers a bit more, he probably needs one more chapter to get his personality through, the trials of an unwieldy cast.
Hmmm, that would be four chapters within a hundred pages, it does seem a bit tight. AH well, hope springs eternal, especially if you're a voter. One chapter for Mark, one for Jake and Chad (which is started), one for the conclusion of the events at Southern, and the last chapter at O'Hare. That doesn't even count the interludes, but these are usually short, or they should be short, God knows i try, but sometimes these things write themselves.
I'm not sure if i've really hashed out what was in Chapter 19, but it's another Government under the stairs chapter, and so is Chapter 20, predominately. I'm going to go into 20, and see if i can squeeze in some bits for Mark, and save myself a little effort. Putting both chapters together, the split between action and dialogue is 50/50, that shouldn't change too much if i end the chapter with a little traveling.
I'm getting better at talking about the project without giving up any of the secrets. But as they say, spoilers on, but you needn't worry, it won't be too bad. Rebecca Fastet is in Chicago to study/bag Mark Tavers before he becomes to comfortable with his abilities, joined by Christie Reyes, they meet up to go over the case, and the various anxieties that go along with battling your victims ghost and superpowers. At this point, i don't know if Mark will be alive at the end, but it doesn't really matter because there is more involved than a wiz who can talk to and control machines, imagine what he can do at an airport, and you have part of my last chapter. BUt there's more, Rebecca knows about the door buried deep in the bowels of the Terminals where the pilots stash their belongings, and are treated to discounted bacon and eggs. Through these tunnels, deep down where the furnace boils, warming a small city, is the door. The door Rain/Ozma is desperately dragging Jake Fastet towards, but what will he think when he sees his mother waiting for him. It is another reason, she's in Chicago, knowing that the calamity down at Southern will not contain him, and the only thing to do is wait for him to show up, and the door will open.
Dammit, I'm talking about the end of the book, and not the chapters, good job. But this is something I've been free with since the beginning of the book. You realize after the first fifty pages, i hope, that while documenting what happened down South, Jake and his fictitious partners in magic and virtue are making their way up North to Chicago in order to begin the next leg of this journey. Forced to recount his misadventures to a person he doesn't believe in, his trip back up North, covered in the interludes, is discomforting to anyone traveling a virtuous path.
But that's not the point, as you can see, i have very little control over these things. Once again, I'm all over the place, and can't get my topic straight. For those who have heard me speak in public, you'll know what i mean.
Rebbecca uses scientific wizardry to access the special project the downstairs president wants her to see. They've finally gotten some control over their pet monsters, and have burrowed a tunnel from underneath Washington DC to some Podunk coal mining town in Northern Virginia, YEAH GEOGRAPHY CLASS. Don't tread too deeply in the coalmines where the zombies roam, but i lie, they aren't in the coalmine, but you don't really need to know too much. A bit of action, commentary, and some lore, good stuff. And remember disgruntled reader, it's only a device nothing more. Once the show is done, Christie walks in, and they begin to go over the Mark Tavers case. There is a lot of recriminations over Christi's attitude, but she has just been mugged my a ghost, and is very stressed over the constant threats to her life by means she's not used to, she's used to be shot at with bullets. To face the antisocial verbal and powered retorts of Jake Fastet has left her disgruntled. Rebbecca, who still desires to use her cover when confronted with her son, talks her down.
BLAH BLAH BLAH more good vibes, or machinations/exposition, and presto, we're ready to get to work, maybe. The end of the chapter is a little unclear, as they discuss each of the projects, we'll flash to the victims, and get a little endtimes mojo going. That's really all there is to it as i hobble towards the airport, and try to figure out who'll get there.
With the events of my last interlude, i've left myself a window to winnow some people out, not permanently, but just long enough to have a clear concise ending.
Let me just leave it with a few more words. Last night, I worked late for dinner and a movie, we saw Valentines Day. What a large, disorganized cast of characters, and I'm sitting there waiting for each of their storyline's to be tied up. That old friend paranoia stopped by, but i told him to get lost. As otherworldly as it may be, i still have a plot, no matter how many people are involved. Just not as many people that were in Valentine's Day. Who was the kind of rugged man? That was Ashton Kutchner. Oh, nevermind.
I'm done.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Christmas Vacation
I'm starting to think Paris Hilton can pull off Magenta if that Rocky Horror remake is ever done. Don't believe me, check out Repo: The Genetic Opera, if you had told me Paris would be in one of my soon to be favorite movies, i would have laughed and scorned. Next Digression
My alarm clock is gone, rolled away in a sheet of plastic bubble rap to be opened after New Years, praise be to holiday vacations. I go back to work on the 5th, in the meantime, there is shopping to dabble in, Dragons Age Origins to be played, and Dark Shadows is in the mail. Next Digression
Doctor Who, and the inconvenience of the End of Time, not to mention a Buffy flashback or two. Praise Andrew and his favorite Bond, Timothy Dalton, mines Sean Connery. I love Obama as much as the next non-committed person, he's ok, but why are people in England hoping that he has the power to save them from this nasty recession. Like Obama is on tv tonight, and the recession will be over with his great plan, he's going to save us. No, Doctor WHO is going to save us that's why I'm watching this thing called Doctor Who, not Doctor Obama, but i could use a little Doctor Paul. Someday, someone is going to do something about Obama not passing your basic spellcheck, it's been a year already, and I'm tired of seeing Obama signaling he's been misspelled. I may be a minority here, but i don't mind when things don't stay dead, i love those swooping in to ruin your day spiels. I'm crossing galaxies just so i can kick your ass.
It fills be with an urge to cuddle.
All the redlines under Obama have just vanished, should i be praying, a sign of God this.
Other than that, and Catherine Tate being around for ten seconds before the headaches came, she better be front in center next time, because you see, I'm in love. AM I BOVVERED
Then there was June Whitfield, and i was excited maybe Patsy Stone would stop in to give the good Doctor a slash. Ah, i love British TV cause at some point you get to see everyone again. The Digressions are over.
I'm looking at two sections, and then I'm done. Thursday and Friday, the setup may not be entirely original, but it works for me. Strict order for what is going to be a multiplexed ending. The interludes throughout the book take place on Friday, the day when everything happened, and our friends are making their way north to O'Hare, and getting acquainted with each others fallacies. TEH FANCY
I made this very hard for myself, keeping control of a big cast, and the way i cut up the time zones. Jake and company race to O'hare while recounting the events that led to that fateful Friday full of drugs, contempt, and the usual disdain for central authority. With a few stops for cross words, petty crimes, and recreational refreshments, our trio makes it to the Windy City as the trains arrive, dropping off their cargo that survived the calamity down south. Until that point, Jake was ready to tag along with whatever magical destination Rain/Ozma had in mind, but with a bout of melancholy and an opportune brain fart, Jake leaps off the top of a luxurious grand patio, and beats it. It was one of those moments where the story took over from what i had in mind, a thankful occurrence. I had planned on all three taking the blueline into the airport, racing upstairs to yada yada yada. I'm not ready to talk about that yet, only the events leading up to it.
The scene on the blueline is partly written, like saintly anti-authoritarians, they dump the remaining passengers at Rosemont, god that must suck, and take control of the train, tearing it from the tracks to crash into the danker parts of the airport. No one notices, why, because everyone is upstairs dealing with Mark Tavers, and his anti-authoritarian scheme. A little late to the party, but that will be the least of Jake Fastet's problems.
Anyways, besides that garbled mess few will understand, Jake ran away from Ozma. Turns out it makes my ending a little easier to manage, and adds another conflict. God, the race to DC should be very interesting, but Thursday and Friday have to be finished first.
I had a big problem. I had fifteen pages of material that i was about to trash, the mood, the location, all seemed wrong, what was the point of going back to class, and sitting at a desk with the events of the last few days under his belt. If you're leaving town on Friday, beggar the consequences, then why go to class on Thursday? See my problem, but someone must be watching out over me, it took a week, finally, i figured it out. Just delete a few names, he didn't go to class, just switch it around a little, and Viola, character development for Doctor Morrison. Not sure what he and Jake have to talk about, but he only has one more day to do it. He's the only person from the Government under the stairs that is still down there, the rest have moved on to Chicago to study/poke at Mark Tavers.
Then there's the other half of Thursday still to be done, the ghost with the laptop, and Jake's last few moments alone.
That's my plan for this week, finishing Thursday. Until next time, laters
My alarm clock is gone, rolled away in a sheet of plastic bubble rap to be opened after New Years, praise be to holiday vacations. I go back to work on the 5th, in the meantime, there is shopping to dabble in, Dragons Age Origins to be played, and Dark Shadows is in the mail. Next Digression
Doctor Who, and the inconvenience of the End of Time, not to mention a Buffy flashback or two. Praise Andrew and his favorite Bond, Timothy Dalton, mines Sean Connery. I love Obama as much as the next non-committed person, he's ok, but why are people in England hoping that he has the power to save them from this nasty recession. Like Obama is on tv tonight, and the recession will be over with his great plan, he's going to save us. No, Doctor WHO is going to save us that's why I'm watching this thing called Doctor Who, not Doctor Obama, but i could use a little Doctor Paul. Someday, someone is going to do something about Obama not passing your basic spellcheck, it's been a year already, and I'm tired of seeing Obama signaling he's been misspelled. I may be a minority here, but i don't mind when things don't stay dead, i love those swooping in to ruin your day spiels. I'm crossing galaxies just so i can kick your ass.
It fills be with an urge to cuddle.
All the redlines under Obama have just vanished, should i be praying, a sign of God this.
Other than that, and Catherine Tate being around for ten seconds before the headaches came, she better be front in center next time, because you see, I'm in love. AM I BOVVERED
Then there was June Whitfield, and i was excited maybe Patsy Stone would stop in to give the good Doctor a slash. Ah, i love British TV cause at some point you get to see everyone again. The Digressions are over.
I'm looking at two sections, and then I'm done. Thursday and Friday, the setup may not be entirely original, but it works for me. Strict order for what is going to be a multiplexed ending. The interludes throughout the book take place on Friday, the day when everything happened, and our friends are making their way north to O'Hare, and getting acquainted with each others fallacies. TEH FANCY
I made this very hard for myself, keeping control of a big cast, and the way i cut up the time zones. Jake and company race to O'hare while recounting the events that led to that fateful Friday full of drugs, contempt, and the usual disdain for central authority. With a few stops for cross words, petty crimes, and recreational refreshments, our trio makes it to the Windy City as the trains arrive, dropping off their cargo that survived the calamity down south. Until that point, Jake was ready to tag along with whatever magical destination Rain/Ozma had in mind, but with a bout of melancholy and an opportune brain fart, Jake leaps off the top of a luxurious grand patio, and beats it. It was one of those moments where the story took over from what i had in mind, a thankful occurrence. I had planned on all three taking the blueline into the airport, racing upstairs to yada yada yada. I'm not ready to talk about that yet, only the events leading up to it.
The scene on the blueline is partly written, like saintly anti-authoritarians, they dump the remaining passengers at Rosemont, god that must suck, and take control of the train, tearing it from the tracks to crash into the danker parts of the airport. No one notices, why, because everyone is upstairs dealing with Mark Tavers, and his anti-authoritarian scheme. A little late to the party, but that will be the least of Jake Fastet's problems.
Anyways, besides that garbled mess few will understand, Jake ran away from Ozma. Turns out it makes my ending a little easier to manage, and adds another conflict. God, the race to DC should be very interesting, but Thursday and Friday have to be finished first.
I had a big problem. I had fifteen pages of material that i was about to trash, the mood, the location, all seemed wrong, what was the point of going back to class, and sitting at a desk with the events of the last few days under his belt. If you're leaving town on Friday, beggar the consequences, then why go to class on Thursday? See my problem, but someone must be watching out over me, it took a week, finally, i figured it out. Just delete a few names, he didn't go to class, just switch it around a little, and Viola, character development for Doctor Morrison. Not sure what he and Jake have to talk about, but he only has one more day to do it. He's the only person from the Government under the stairs that is still down there, the rest have moved on to Chicago to study/poke at Mark Tavers.
Then there's the other half of Thursday still to be done, the ghost with the laptop, and Jake's last few moments alone.
That's my plan for this week, finishing Thursday. Until next time, laters
Monday, December 7, 2009
I was on my way home thinking about Chapter 17
The snow that i was so excited about this morning was already gone, but i still shook my boots as i got out of the car. It's proper to be ready for when it gets worse and worse, soon I'll be wading through snow, watching as it shifts through the streets like dirt from a shiv. Imagining how it will look when it passes under the carriages of the passing cars while realizing nothing looks familiar. Due to cuteness, not the cold, i don a pair of ear wraps and black gloves, already that routine is embraced. The harsh air has never been kind to my hands. It's still early winter where the cold offers comfort, instead of rushed bitterness, the hurry and get done pursuit, because it's just too cold. The cold where things die. This cold dies upon touching your medium jacket, and if you were clothed as i was, with gloves and sleeves, then i say, you'd probably didn't feel much of it at all. You could be, as i was, free to look at the gray sky, and wonder if this was perhaps England. Where the sky is permanently gray, and the sun is half covered, kept in check.
For a Monday, it was peaceful, almost serene. Words, conversation, flowed effortlessly from my lips. There was no lag, or slag, it was a Monday made for confidence, carrying me through the day.
When all that was over, the last line between duty and leisure about to be crossed, i noticed the building door was open, and everything was dark.
Pushing it all the way open, i stepped on the pieces of the lock that had been broken off. It was then i realized no one was in the building except me. All the other apartments were vacant, in the distance i heard dogs barking, but these were petty, more yips and yaps. My phone rang breaking the silence, and i scrambled to find a light switch as i heard feet fleeing down the stairs. I looked up, the light from my phone showing two dimly lit and dimly moral'd people. Later, i would learn they had a crow bar in their hands, but for now i was stuck, frozen. Panic time lasted only a brief second, but thinking back it was more like stupid time, because i was still stuck. The red and blue of their jackets struck me as they raced out, braver than i ever was, only now noticing how young they were.
Someone had tried breaking into my apartment, the conclusion no longer hesitating to cross my mind. The first time dialing an emergency number on my phone wasn't an accident, stupid blackberry, refreshingly talking to a stranger, eager to impress.
"The cops will be right over."
Then i checked around the building, ignoring official advice to stay put, but i was the girl who goes upstairs and the guy who checks the basement. All was there, and nothing more.
The cops wanted the landlord, and not me, a little crusted, a hot cop would have brightened my day. they wanted to leave, no owner no problem, we go. They might as well have used broken English to accent their intent. Seems that i caught the burglars in time, before they could go into other apartments, other doors, and since the only door they broke belonged to the landlord, it was him they wanted or they would just go.
So they left, and i wondered if i should be scared of the rest of the day or maybe tomorrow. But i never take these thoughts seriously, believing deep down every person thinks of peace. Naivety always has been my downfall, but that is a problem for another day, not even tomorrow.
This is all true, and i normally do not write this way.
But i wanted to try something different, a little bit of nature. I always love first snow, and wished it had snowed all day. So i could stand in the flurries, smoking a square, before it gets too cold, before the ice.
For a Monday, it was peaceful, almost serene. Words, conversation, flowed effortlessly from my lips. There was no lag, or slag, it was a Monday made for confidence, carrying me through the day.
When all that was over, the last line between duty and leisure about to be crossed, i noticed the building door was open, and everything was dark.
Pushing it all the way open, i stepped on the pieces of the lock that had been broken off. It was then i realized no one was in the building except me. All the other apartments were vacant, in the distance i heard dogs barking, but these were petty, more yips and yaps. My phone rang breaking the silence, and i scrambled to find a light switch as i heard feet fleeing down the stairs. I looked up, the light from my phone showing two dimly lit and dimly moral'd people. Later, i would learn they had a crow bar in their hands, but for now i was stuck, frozen. Panic time lasted only a brief second, but thinking back it was more like stupid time, because i was still stuck. The red and blue of their jackets struck me as they raced out, braver than i ever was, only now noticing how young they were.
Someone had tried breaking into my apartment, the conclusion no longer hesitating to cross my mind. The first time dialing an emergency number on my phone wasn't an accident, stupid blackberry, refreshingly talking to a stranger, eager to impress.
"The cops will be right over."
Then i checked around the building, ignoring official advice to stay put, but i was the girl who goes upstairs and the guy who checks the basement. All was there, and nothing more.
The cops wanted the landlord, and not me, a little crusted, a hot cop would have brightened my day. they wanted to leave, no owner no problem, we go. They might as well have used broken English to accent their intent. Seems that i caught the burglars in time, before they could go into other apartments, other doors, and since the only door they broke belonged to the landlord, it was him they wanted or they would just go.
So they left, and i wondered if i should be scared of the rest of the day or maybe tomorrow. But i never take these thoughts seriously, believing deep down every person thinks of peace. Naivety always has been my downfall, but that is a problem for another day, not even tomorrow.
This is all true, and i normally do not write this way.
But i wanted to try something different, a little bit of nature. I always love first snow, and wished it had snowed all day. So i could stand in the flurries, smoking a square, before it gets too cold, before the ice.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Government Under the Stairs and the road to completion
Just checking in to drop off a quick passage, heroically, i would label this as my beginning of the end narrative part 2. Just fifty pages later, I can never make up my mind with how close to the end i am. I have a few hesitations before i can say this chapter (16) is good to go. Language, something is just not right, one character is fine, Rebecca Fastet was never meant to take a commanding lead in this chapter, just a brief reminder that she is still alive. I never expected that Jake's mother would have a bigger part after she was debriefed way back in chapter 4. But without her, the last chapter wouldn't be tantalizing as i hope.
My problem, i think, is the Downstairs President, how i identify him, and his lack of qualities. He doesn't strike me as anybody. This probably stems from my not having any planned use for him after this chapter. It's nice to star in one chapter, most get nothing, but I'm sure he will pop up again, just not until I'm done with this book. After chapter 16, the only time he pops up again is in a recon scene that I'm not even sure will be kept. This is a long chapter, with all the micro events that play out here, I'd think I'd be more comfortable with this character. I need to realize who he is, so far he's just generic secret underground boss guy, and i can do better than that.
I will leave you with the pot hole narrative, heralding chapter 16. Stressed out, I leave you this Friday night so i can hash this out, and nurse my crush on the new guy at work.
Remember friends, don't shit where you eat.
Peace
I agree, it’s abrupt, especially, considering the last time you saw me, I was walking out of Rain’s rented room in my old, albeit brief, friend Chad’s house. Maybe you were expecting something different, like a sign of a conclusion, but I regret to inform you it is time for another change of scenery, inconvenient, but necessary. There is one more cast of disreputable characters, then, and I promise, I will tell you what caused me to leave Southern, racing North destination unknown. We shall see if Chad’s vision has any bearing on reality, if Maddy and Box get there in time, and just when will Angel and Vasili arrive to haul my ass to hell. If it proves too much, then let me provide a heads up, even after the events in Southern, this story is just starting. At the time, all signs pointed to this being a trippy adventure, a few psychedelics here, being thrown through a building there, and street fights in the sky. I was wrong, later, months later, when I finally stood in the Office of the President of the United States, and I saw no amount of validation would ever keep me as sane as that man in the chair who lost his. I looked into the president’s eyes and knew I was fucked; this road would take me much farther then one world. It takes many people to establish control in this world, from the aggressors to the get along crowd more commonly mislabeled as sheep, and all the lives caught in between. It is my hope to put an end to the control that many strive to safeguard, the system, which many people unwillingly prop up in our daily attempt to make it through another day. Our daily grind feeds, and nourishes Leviathan.
At this point in our story, I must return you to that segment of antagonistic delight that I comically refer to as the government under the stairs. They were the ones behind the raid on my house as I was conveniently trying to slip away to make my train. Angel’s abode was also victim to their nefarious door busting ways. To make matters obscenely worse, my mother works for them. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but they are big, bigger than any other government entity I have ever learned to despise. The IRS, bigger, and unbelievably more sinister, they have similar powers, but the downstairs people have farther reach, and use of the army. Thankfully, the IRS doesn’t have the military at their disposal, yet. Every federal police agency, pick any three letter, even them, can be reallocated and directed on a whim, to add in the wicked tasks that governments feel compelled to dabble in.
Of utmost distinction, the government under the stairs has supernatural levers. Imagine the pork handling, regulatory enforcing, or those confiscating gritty mitts with magical tools at their command. It is time to see how they plan to put their skills to use, and more importantly, how much do they know about what is going on in Southern, who are they keeping tabs on in Chicago, and it would be nice to see how my mother is doing.
My problem, i think, is the Downstairs President, how i identify him, and his lack of qualities. He doesn't strike me as anybody. This probably stems from my not having any planned use for him after this chapter. It's nice to star in one chapter, most get nothing, but I'm sure he will pop up again, just not until I'm done with this book. After chapter 16, the only time he pops up again is in a recon scene that I'm not even sure will be kept. This is a long chapter, with all the micro events that play out here, I'd think I'd be more comfortable with this character. I need to realize who he is, so far he's just generic secret underground boss guy, and i can do better than that.
I will leave you with the pot hole narrative, heralding chapter 16. Stressed out, I leave you this Friday night so i can hash this out, and nurse my crush on the new guy at work.
Remember friends, don't shit where you eat.
Peace
I agree, it’s abrupt, especially, considering the last time you saw me, I was walking out of Rain’s rented room in my old, albeit brief, friend Chad’s house. Maybe you were expecting something different, like a sign of a conclusion, but I regret to inform you it is time for another change of scenery, inconvenient, but necessary. There is one more cast of disreputable characters, then, and I promise, I will tell you what caused me to leave Southern, racing North destination unknown. We shall see if Chad’s vision has any bearing on reality, if Maddy and Box get there in time, and just when will Angel and Vasili arrive to haul my ass to hell. If it proves too much, then let me provide a heads up, even after the events in Southern, this story is just starting. At the time, all signs pointed to this being a trippy adventure, a few psychedelics here, being thrown through a building there, and street fights in the sky. I was wrong, later, months later, when I finally stood in the Office of the President of the United States, and I saw no amount of validation would ever keep me as sane as that man in the chair who lost his. I looked into the president’s eyes and knew I was fucked; this road would take me much farther then one world. It takes many people to establish control in this world, from the aggressors to the get along crowd more commonly mislabeled as sheep, and all the lives caught in between. It is my hope to put an end to the control that many strive to safeguard, the system, which many people unwillingly prop up in our daily attempt to make it through another day. Our daily grind feeds, and nourishes Leviathan.
At this point in our story, I must return you to that segment of antagonistic delight that I comically refer to as the government under the stairs. They were the ones behind the raid on my house as I was conveniently trying to slip away to make my train. Angel’s abode was also victim to their nefarious door busting ways. To make matters obscenely worse, my mother works for them. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but they are big, bigger than any other government entity I have ever learned to despise. The IRS, bigger, and unbelievably more sinister, they have similar powers, but the downstairs people have farther reach, and use of the army. Thankfully, the IRS doesn’t have the military at their disposal, yet. Every federal police agency, pick any three letter, even them, can be reallocated and directed on a whim, to add in the wicked tasks that governments feel compelled to dabble in.
Of utmost distinction, the government under the stairs has supernatural levers. Imagine the pork handling, regulatory enforcing, or those confiscating gritty mitts with magical tools at their command. It is time to see how they plan to put their skills to use, and more importantly, how much do they know about what is going on in Southern, who are they keeping tabs on in Chicago, and it would be nice to see how my mother is doing.
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