To the list of writers’ phenomena (characters that won’t say or act the way you want them to; plots that decide for themselves where they want to go), add pacing. I was certain I had two chapters left to write. One chapter later, I am still sure I have two chapters left.
I was over 9000 words into the present chapter when I realized (A) I hadn’t reached that chapter’s “big scene” yet, (B) the chapter stood very well on its own, and (C) I had just written a great chapter-ending one-liner.
So why fight it? If I had stubbornly insisted on fitting the “big scene” into this chapter, I’m sure I would have rushed it — not good for one of the story’s two biggest payoff scenes. Instead, I’ve pushed it forward. I’ll take my time and do it right.
Have I mentioned yet how much I’m enjoying this?
D.
I gave up understanding my dreams long ago. Just when I think certain dreamscapes have reproducible geologic features, those features are upended: I made it back to the canyon, a place for decades defined by its remoteness, but this time I found a sports rental outlet, a Starbucks, and fast food. And just when I think my dream self follows certain rules, those rules are broken.
You see, I can’t punch people in my dreams. Whenever I try so much as a self-defensive kick, I become floppy, ineffectual. A toddler could overpower me. But not the other night: I was a gladiator participating in a team melee. Fighters on the other team weren’t taking me seriously — I had no armor, no weapon, and I was, well, me-sized. But then one of my opponents got body-slammed and his little dagger went flying. I dove for it, got it, and still no one paid attention to me.
Whereupon I killed at least four people (that I can remember) by knifing each one in the carotid.
This dream-me was most definitely not toddler-safe.
D.
Call them Dude A and Dude B. I couldn’t see either one (there was a row of lockers between us) so I cannot provide any factual verification.
Dude A: Dude! You’re not going to!
Dude B: Gotta. I forgot to bring another pair of shorts.
Dude A: Dude, those are zipper pants.
Dude B: Yeah, well.
Dude A: I’m just saying. Dude.
Dude B: Dude, you’re like a hundred times bigger than me, so I’m telling you, I don’t have to worry about it.
Dude A: Unless you’ve like shrunk up since high school, you’re big enough to reach your zipper.
Dude B: Not a problem ‘less I get a hard-on.
Dude A: It happens, Dude. Like, spontaneously.
Dude B: No, man, I’m getting too old for that shit. Mine takes some attention.
From there, it devolved into a discussion of what it would take to get a spontaneous erection these days. The word “penis” figured prominently. Dude, I’m not kidding.
D.
So how is everyone? What are you guys reading? I reread Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, and while I love Bladerunner, DADES cries out for a more faithful adaptation. Also reading Tim Powers’s Declare.
I’ve been working like a dog, visiting college campuses with Jake, and writing, roughly in that order. (Should finish the current chapter tonight, which leaves two chapters to go. I need to finish one last scene . . .)
From my son, here’s Cyanide and Happiness, which is also a web comic — but my first experience with them was this video:
and the next was this,
In both cases, they’ve mastered the essential “I didn’t see that coming” aspect of comedy. Gotta resist the urge to bask in their brilliance.
D.