Oct 9
Life in Fortress Dave proceeds apace. Like usual. Wee Dave was remanded into my care when his teachers wouldn’t have him in class anymore, ever, for a few days at least. Of course, they refused to have anybody in class, so he’s no more special than he was, but Writing Time turned into Man Time while they had professional time. What about Dave? What about Dave’s professional time? *shakes fist*
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No, not that. Pervs.
This whole life thing keeps being complicated. I don’t like it. I’d like to speak to the Manager. Wee Dave and Wee-er Dave continue to make my life interesting, and I’m not writing nearly enough to keep me happy (I suspect my eventual goal of a novel a quarter isn’t enough, but I’ll nuke that site when I orbit it). That said, some time alone and writing is good, and despite the eventual burnout my chosen-because-the-alternatives-are-worse lifestyle is likely to bring, I’m doing fairly well. Most days. Some days. Adulting is hard, okay? And it hurts: marriage, parenting, loving. It all opens one to several worlds of hurt.
Which segues neatly into the topic today! Suppose you have a main character who is an emotional wreck, for some reason. Or any character, but we tend to put our MCs through the wringer most, and for good reason. How do you demonstrate this in such a way that it doesn’t cause your readers to bounce your book off the far wall? Read more
One I’d rather not repeat, though my wish is unlikely to be granted. For Wee-er Dave, the Dave of the she persuasion, has become two. Not in the chronological sense, which she passed some months back. No, my sunny, little delight, has run headlong — screaming, even — into the Twoness called Terrible. Last week, her dress was wrong. Same thing today (I’m writing this yesterday). Different dress, though. And breakfast was wrong. As was her hair (well, Child, should you cooperate, all of this can be resolved to both of our satisfaction). This resulted in forcible insertion into her car seat, sans shoes and socks, which was also wrong. So, so wrong.
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Welcome back, all. I’m sorry to have to do this, but I’m going to require three sample chapters and an outline from each of you by this time next week. The theme is kitchen sink space fantasy: anything that can happen, will happen somewhere.
I’m kidding. Really. That was an attempt (ED: a ham-handed attempt) at subverting your expectations as readers. I’m required to apologize for that (ED: extremely ham-handed), but I would have anyway. For similarly unwieldy subversions turned into tropes, take a glance at daytime television sometime. Or anime. Or fanfic. Shoot, even a goodly mess of scifi abounds with examples of writers attempting to put one over on the reader.
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When last we saw our hero (for a given value of the word), he was clinging to sanity by his thoroughly gnawed fingernails. Small, ravening beasts surrounded him on all sides, nobody had his back, and he was staring deep in the Abyss (who said, “Hey, bro, you have pretty eyes. More coffee?”). Would he survive? Would he be reduced to a gibbering wreck, good only for boiling more mac’n’cheese? Stay tuned for next week’s episode! Read more
It’s Tuesday. Again. And for those of us with children, we’re in the final ramp-up to school things. Wee-er Dave is there at this moment, doing her utmost to begin her conquering army. Daddy’s so proud. Himself is home until Friday, the two of them attending different schools, this year. I promised him we’d do something fun while his sister is getting to have fun. After today, because I have to work.
Speaking of work, Monday starts the “both littles in school all morning so Dave writes for a few hours” gig. Honestly, I can barely see that far ahead. I’m going to work on the space opera thing that desperately needs a real title. I’ve posted the first chapter in here, before. I’m about 30k and change into it, and I’m hoping to finish it within a month or so.
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Okay, coffee. Hello, Darkness, etc. Littles are still out, but I expect that to reverse itself in the not terribly distant future. The days crawl, yet tempus still fuggits in a manner with which I am not entirely comfortable. *sips*
And I see that this morning’s post has engendered some spirited discussion about the role of gatekeepers, and how they roll. Groovy. Game on.
Amazon is not coming for your intellectual property. Amazon doesn’t hate conservatives, though some employees at the ‘Zon no doubt do. They also don’t hate progressives, though I know for a fact they’ll hire people who aren’t impressed with neo-Marxist failed ideologies or their adherents. Dread Bezos is a businessman, and one who has created an empire. Pragmatism is practically his schtick. That and kickin’ customer service.
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