Balls and Walnuts
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Category Archives: Writer’s Life
Joke? Crappy editing?
I’m reading Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, mostly because I want to watch the movie (big Coen Bros. fan here) but I want to read the book first.
It’s a fun book but it’s really not too deep. Based on my N of 1/2 a McCarthy book, James Crumley has a hell of a lot more to say and he says it with a much less affected style. I don’t like the lack of dialog quotes, the almost complete absence of speaker attribution, the dropped punctuation (McCarthy dont need no stinkin apostrophes!), the sentence fragments, the thick vernacular. Nevertheless, all of those pretentious quirks aside, NCfOM is a fun ride.
But I DIDN’T expect to find, in an otherwise humorless book,
Who must think that he thought that they thought that he thought they were very dumb. He thought about that.
Wow. Pulled me right out of the book. I can’t remember who said it, but there’s an old quote about cutting the “good bits.” I’m sure the author of that quote didn’t mean you should edit out ALL the good bits, but rather, you should cut the bits of which you are particularly, smugly proud. IMO, those two sentences qualify.
In other news: I’m a little over 25K words into my WiP. Not bad for, what? a couple of months of weekend writing? (Yeah, Tammy, I underestimated the word count when I talked to you the other night. Could have knocked me over when I checked it the next day.)
I have mixed feelings about this novel. On the one hand, I think this is some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. On the other, I’m terrified because I don’t know where it’s going. Which is kind of fun-scary in a way, too; I’m looking forward to seeing how this all works out, but I’m afraid I’ll write myself into a cul-de-sac. It’s happened before.
D.
Titles, arrrgh
I wrote about 2800 words today. Not bad, but if you look at that as a weekly total, not great, either.
Cracks me up what I’m using as the file’s title: my main character’s name, Lisa. Is that the best I can do? (Apparently so.) But I’m at a loss on this one. The novel wants a different shape than what I had intended — that whole Scheherezade thing may never materialize. I’m reluctant to give this a title without having some knowledge of the finished product.
How about you — when do you title your stories or novels? Do you wait until the end? If you title it at the beginning of the project, does that shape the direction of the work?
If I had to title it now, I think I would want something which resonated with those goofy 50s science fiction movies. Escape from Mars, Mars Needs Women, that sort of thing. Only we’re not going to Mars; but hell, where Lisa’s going, maybe it’s CALLED Mars without being Mars.
See? The title affects the project. Okay, then, maybe I could find a list of titles from 1950s SF movies. Just have to keep from getting distracted by a funny movie trailer. Grr.
Hmm . . . She Came From Outer Space, perhaps? (More accurate would be, She Came From Earth. Not bad!)
In other news: TUCKER CARLSON HAS BEEN CANCELED! WOOOOT!
D.
PS: Ever think how great it would be if the MST3K gang took on a BIG iconic movie? Wonder no longer.Â
Leather Goddess of Phobos visits Earth
Today’s Friday Flickr babe: bow down to your goddess, by legskirtluver.
I think I might finally be getting the right mindset. WRONG is to approach the domme thus: “I would love to be your slave; I would love to lick your feet, be your human ashtray, etc. etc.” RIGHT is: “Please let me serve you.”
Because it’s not about what the sub wants, loves, desires. It’s all about serving the domme.
Of course, it’s about the sub’s desires, too. If the sub didn’t want this, he wouldn’t be in the sub role in the first place. But he doesn’t say that is what he wants, because saying so is an assertion of dominance, which violates the role. Got it?
I hope I’m understanding this. Can’t wait to see what the muse does with all this lovely information. You gotta feed the muse.
D.
Waiting
My question for the Magic 8 Ball:
Will Jane Doe* request my full manuscript?
Fucker.
Maybe it’s lying.
D.
*Oh, just some agent who ACTUALLY LIKED MY SAMPLE, that’s all.
Research
One of the advantages of writing science fiction which is, in truth, a satire on pop culture: I can buy OK! magazine and write it off on my taxes. Or, rather, I could write it off on my taxes if I could ever manage to make any money at this writing biz.
I have to ask myself: which celebrities do I pick on? Madonna and Cher are so yesterday. Paris and Britney have become too pathetic, too self-satirized. People still idolize Brangelina and they still think of Jen as one of their friends and oh, isn’t it so sad how heartbroken she is? There’s emotional investment all around with the Jenbrangelina story, whereas with Partney, who cares? Leave Partney alone, I say. Besides, after you’ve seen some drugged out rich girl’s much-abused stubbly va-jay-jay* in a high rez jpeg, there’s not much else to say.
Inevitably, I’m getting caught up in the Brangelaniston story, too. I’m a sucker for broken hearts and unrequited love, and (even if she is blonde) my heart goes out to a girl who looks like the girl next door, even if my girl next door, growing up, was a sixty-something-year-old nurse. Jen, if I weren’t married, I’d be there for ya, babe.
From OK! . . .
Though she did celebrate her birthday earlier this week with some of the cast and crew of the film, a friend of the actress tells OK!, “Almost every night when she finishes work, Jen goes back to her hotel and eats and drinks by herself. Just as often, her evening is a drink and a book. It’s pretty much what she does most nights in L.A.”
And when she is in L.A., friends say Jen spends most of her time with her white German Shephard Dolly, who she adopted in 2006.
Whom she adopted. But can I use the Jen and Dolly story? You betcha.
Sorry to take advantage of your angst, Jen, but if it’s any consolation, you’re going to be one of the good guys.
D.
*Va-jay-jay: my new word. Stay tuned for the Thursday Cosmo Thirteen: the Va-jay-jay Edition. I wish I were making that up.
Bless your heart
Corn Dog has been helping me with my Southern dialect. Lisa, the heroine of my WiP, is a North Carolina girl and had damn well better talk like one. I decided today she was going to blow up at Steven Spielberg (not the real one — oh, never mind) and I wanted her to do that ol’ Southern thing of saying “bless your heart” followed by some nasty jab. The one I chose, I pulled off the web, but maybe someone can offer up something better. Here’s the dialog. “He” is Spielberg. Sort of.
He pointed at Lisa. “Get her inside. Let her see her kid, then put her on ice for the night.â€
She blinked a few times, did a mental playback, decided to count to ten, decided three was high enough, then spat fire.
“My kid?†she said, or roared, really, loud enough she was sure she had his attention. “Why, Mr. Spielberg, bless your heart, you must be nuttier than squirrel shit if you think I’m too dumb to use birth control. I’m flabbergasted. You think I’m some dumb crack whore who’s a granny before she turns twenty-eight? Billy Ray is my brother, you hear? And if you and your carnival freak show harm one hair on his head, I’ll make it my life’s work to make y’all more miserable than ticks on a –â€
And so forth. I’m not sure where those ticks would be; thank God Spielberg interrupts her at this point.
Corn Dog sent me this news story about Billy Long, a Tennessee sheriff arrested for extortion. The story and video are fun, but the comment thread is a hoot. I watched the video; I don’t see any people “of color” there, just a bunch of white talking heads. So who does one commenter blame?
My husband is a Chattanooga police officer and there are still good guys that are in law enforcement. The problem is that they are promoted based on who they know and what skin color they have.
So this sheriff is shaking down ethnic Indian convenience store clerks for money — here, let’s make it simple: a white dude in power is extorting brown people — and who’s to blame? The brown people! Different brown people, I imagine, the ones in the police department. But still.
Whoops. Corn Dog tells me I’m wrong: the letter-writer’s husband is probably not white, and she’s complaining about the Department’s policy of promoting white people. Ew. That’s quite a bit worse. I had assumed this was a rant against affirmative action.
Moving on,
THIS CAME AS SHOCK TO ME TO FIND OUT THAT BEHIND HIS BRIGHT BLUE (ALMOST WHITE) EYES, WAS ANY FORM OF DECEPTION. AND THROUGH ALL THIS NEGATIVITY, I WILL SAY “GOD BE WITH YOU AND YOUR FAMILY BILLY”. IF HE IS GUILTY, I HOPE HE HAS LEARNED HIS LESSON. IF NOT, GOD SPEED TO GET HIM OUT. BLESS HIS HEART.
White eyes. How could he possibly be corrupt? And she manages to work in one more “bless his heart” before it’s all over.
Interesting phrase, “bless your heart.” It’s multipurpose, not unlike “fuck.” It can either mean “bless your heart,” or it can be used as a prelude to the lowest of insults.
This was good:
I hope the shady oompa loompa stays in prison. Maybe he can learn propper grammar while he’s in there.
The oompa loompa in question is Billy Long, a white guy. Confusing. But I, too, hope he’ll learn propper grammar.
Buyer’s remorse:
Well so much for YOU CANT GO WRONG WITH BILLY LONG. I did and am now ashamed for it.
Well, I don’t want to spoil the rest of the thread for you.
Darla, I’m still thinking about that meme. Watch the smoke coming out of my ears. See? That’s some hard thinking 🙂
D.
Saturday snippet
I axed the snippet. Here’s a great flickr series instead. (Dean, you gotta check these out.)
I was stuck today, and I wasn’t sure why, so I posted the last few hundred words here. Sometimes it helps, seeing my writing in a different format. I see things I’ve missed when I looked at the original manuscript.
Can’t really put a finger on it, but this bit was all wrong.
D.
Cleavage
Too. Tired.
The real bitch about being tired? There’s a scene in my head waiting to come out. I wrote ~850 words last night, and some of it was laugh-out-loud funny (yes, I laugh at my own jokes. Tedious, eh?) The next scene wants to be written, but tonight, I’ll be lucky if I can answer my emails and type up Jake’s homework assignment for tomorrow.
Tomorrow won’t be much better; the schedule looks grueling. But then I have a four-day weekend. At a minimum, that’s good news for the WiP. Maybe it’ll be good news for my blog readers, too.
D.
A Sunday Flickr Babe
Summer Days, originally uploaded by modelux.com.
Bright eyes, cute nose. Check out the rest of her photo shoot, too.
I wrote a little over 2000 words today. Not bad, considering I had to take a nap mid-way through.
The muse keeps giving me little hints as to what is yet to come. Not much, but enough that I know that she knows what she’s doing. I wonder if she has something other than Scheherezade in mind? I see intimations of that altered path . . . other characters and subplots yammering for attention. This may not be 1001 Nights after all.
D.
2445 words today
Live-blogging tonight, some time around 7 PM PST.
I can’t write for shit during the week, but at least I can write on the weekends. Below the cut you’ll find a snippet. To recap: Lisa’s had a crappy day. Her boyfriend (Henry) dumped her, then told nasty lies about her to all the other high school kids. She’s probably going to get suspended for beating up the two boys who repeated those things, and on top of all that, she suspects her mama’s using drugs again. There’s an excellent chance Child Protective Services will invade their lives (again), and so she and her little brothers Billy Ray and Cyrus will be placed in different foster homes.
She runs away from school and into the arms of Brad Pitt, who claims to be Brad Pitt’s body double. Brad promises her a way out: she and her brothers can join their movie production company.
Lisa’s cool with that (although suspicious). She wants to check out the movie set, but first, she has Brad drive her home so that she can pack some things.
Here we go . . .