It's a pretty slow day here at work, so I thought I'd pop in and post an update.
...
Okay, so there's not too much to update.
I've hit the 19,000 word mark on "15,000 Years," so I'm almost at the halfway point (the goal is 50,000 words), which works out to about ten and a half chapters, though I think I've only actually posted two or three so far.
I've been writing it in a sort of stream of consciousness fashion, just sitting down and writing with no fixed idea of what I want to accomplish.
The fact that I'm taking this approach shows, since I'm almost halfawy through and I still don't have any real plot to speak of.
I've got some plot elements, but no clear idea of what I want to have happen.
Ah well, it's pretty much just an exercise anyway, a flexing of my literary muscles. It's not like I have any plans or hopes to publish it anywhere outside of the Web.
One of the plot elements I do have has me a little concerned, as it may seem like it comes completely out of left field when it's fully introduced. Hopefully I will have managed to lay the groundwork for it, so it won't seem too out of the blue when I spring it on the reader.
On a related side note, I should mention that I'm sort of falling in love with the main female character in the novel.
I guess it makes sense, though; I've sort of created her to be my dream girl.
It just annoys me that she doesn't exist anywhere outside of my imagination...
Today's big excitement came in the form of getting two hours off, as my co-workers and I all left work to go bowling as a sort of team activity.
I haven't bowled in like 8 or 9 years, and I was never that good in the first place, so I did pretty poorly today. I really tanked the first game, rounding it off with a pathetic 59. The second game was a little better; I ended up bowling an 83.
Still, pretty pathetic overall, and it's really symptomatic of a larger issue. I mean, there's a reason I don't go out into the world and do things: I'm no good at any of them.
I also managed to injure myself slightly, as the edge of the ball rubbing against my thumb caused a blister to form. The blister then popped and the skin tore loose, so I ended up leaving a little piece of myself behind at the bowling alley.
Still, it was an interesting change of pace, but now I need to while away the three and a half hours I have remaining. I suppose that I should get back to it.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Time flies when you're not having fun
One of the things that I’ve come to find most irritating as I get older is how frequently I discover that the things people told me about getting older, which, when I was younger, I dismissed as nonsense, are largely turning out to be true.
It’s not that I feel the need to always be right, but there is definitely some aspect of my nature that hates for other people to be right.
In any case, one thing that I’ve found to be especially true is my mother’s admonition that as you get older time seems to move faster.
I find myself amazed on those occasions when I think back on some event that seems so fresh in my mind and I realize that it happened five years ago.
Or ten.
Or fifteen.
Or twenty.
The odd nature of my work schedule only adds to the feeling of accelerated time, as five days at work encompasses a period of nine days total. If I take three days off from work I’m away for eleven.
It seems almost impossible to think that’s it already been nearly two years since I moved to Northern Virginia.
Of course, I suppose that I can take some amount of satisfaction in knowing that I am at least disproving the adage about time flying when you’re having fun, since I almost never have fun and yet time persists in flying anyway…
This reflection on the nature of time was largely inspired by reading some of the stories in my latest “Sandman” re-acquisition, “Worlds’ End.”
This particular collection of stories is one that, in my original collection, I didn’t have in the form of a single volume, but rather as individual issues of the series.
I very clearly remember receiving them in the mail as part of my subscription to the series. I feel a heaviness in my stomach as I think back to reading them in that tiny little apartment my wife and I shared back then and I can almost believe that if I were to close my eyes and open them again I would still be there, and yet eleven years have passed since that time.
In that time I’ve moved across the country on more than one occasion, she’s remarried and had a child, and I’ve had to once again buy something that I had already owned once in another life.
The actual set-up of the stories contained within “Worlds’ End” is very similar to that of “The Canterbury Tales,” in which we find a group of disparate travelers passing the time by regaling each other with stories.
Of course, in this case they aren’t pilgrims off on a quest to see the body of the Holy, Blissful Martyr, but are instead travelers from different worlds who have found themselves stranded at a place that is not a place waiting for the “reality storm” that has brought them together to pass.
Since it is a collection of Sandman stories written by Neil Gaiman, all of the stories are extremely good, but there is one in particular that, for reasons that I’m not certain I could articulate, really stands out for me. Since I lost my original copy of the story I’ve missed it a good deal more than most of the others, and I was very eager to read it once again.
You can say what you will about the quality, or lack thereof, of the comics detailing the lives of Archie, Betty, Veronica, and the rest of the gang from Riverdale, but you can’t dispute the fact that with more than fifty years of continuous publication (I think; I have done ZERO fact-checking here. Suffice to say, they’ve been around for a while.), “Archie” comics obviously have some sort of appeal.
At various points in its history, DC Comics has tried to capitalize on that appeal, making various attempts at tapping into this potential market with comics such as “Binky,” with varying degrees of success.
It was, perhaps, in an additional attempt to gain inroads into the “Archie” demographic that in the 1970s DC launched a series titled “Prez.”
Whatever other motivations may have been behind its inception, the inspiration for “Prez” arose from the voting age being lowered to eighteen in 1972. Perhaps too impressed by the activism of the young people of the previous decade, and giving young people altogether too much credit, I think, DC imagined a world in which America’s youth stood up to be counted, taking their civic responsibilities to heart and ensuring that they would have a voice in government by pushing forward an initiative to lower the minimum age for holding office, including the Office of the President of the United States, to eighteen.
Thus, along came the propitiously named Prez Rickard. “Prez” was short for “President,” and he was so-named by his mother who had prophesied that he would one day become President.
Turns out that, like mine with the whole time going faster thing, his mom was right.
(As an aside, so far I have at least managed to consistently prove my mother wrong about the whole “You’ll meet the right person someday” thing…)
So the titular Prez became the youngest President in U.S. History.
My only real familiarity with “Prez” consisted simply of knowing that a comic book by that title had existed and having a dim notion of what the premise was.
I remember thinking that the whole thing was profoundly silly, and it’s my understanding that it pretty much was, if not just entirely bizarre.
And yet…
One of the stories in the “Worlds’ End” collection, and, in fact, the specific story I’m talking about, is actually about Prez, and at the time it served as his first appearance in publication in twenty years.
Throughout the years I’ve remembered the story often, and fondly, since, as I mentioned, for reasons that I can’t articulate (thus sparing you from a lengthy examination of the story), somehow resonates with me.
As silly and bizarre as the basic premise may be, Gaiman managed to craft a story that was moving, sad, and hopeful, and which has stuck with me for more than eleven years.
Reading it again, today, a week after the results of our most recent Presidential election, I can’t help but be especially moved by the story, and think about how there’s one other thing that I’ve heard about getting older that seems to be true.
And as my idealism fades more and more with each rapidly passing day, I really wish that people could be wrong just a little more often.
Want to learn more about Prez? Go here: http://www.toonopedia.com/prez.htm
It’s not that I feel the need to always be right, but there is definitely some aspect of my nature that hates for other people to be right.
In any case, one thing that I’ve found to be especially true is my mother’s admonition that as you get older time seems to move faster.
I find myself amazed on those occasions when I think back on some event that seems so fresh in my mind and I realize that it happened five years ago.
Or ten.
Or fifteen.
Or twenty.
The odd nature of my work schedule only adds to the feeling of accelerated time, as five days at work encompasses a period of nine days total. If I take three days off from work I’m away for eleven.
It seems almost impossible to think that’s it already been nearly two years since I moved to Northern Virginia.
Of course, I suppose that I can take some amount of satisfaction in knowing that I am at least disproving the adage about time flying when you’re having fun, since I almost never have fun and yet time persists in flying anyway…
This reflection on the nature of time was largely inspired by reading some of the stories in my latest “Sandman” re-acquisition, “Worlds’ End.”
This particular collection of stories is one that, in my original collection, I didn’t have in the form of a single volume, but rather as individual issues of the series.
I very clearly remember receiving them in the mail as part of my subscription to the series. I feel a heaviness in my stomach as I think back to reading them in that tiny little apartment my wife and I shared back then and I can almost believe that if I were to close my eyes and open them again I would still be there, and yet eleven years have passed since that time.
In that time I’ve moved across the country on more than one occasion, she’s remarried and had a child, and I’ve had to once again buy something that I had already owned once in another life.
The actual set-up of the stories contained within “Worlds’ End” is very similar to that of “The Canterbury Tales,” in which we find a group of disparate travelers passing the time by regaling each other with stories.
Of course, in this case they aren’t pilgrims off on a quest to see the body of the Holy, Blissful Martyr, but are instead travelers from different worlds who have found themselves stranded at a place that is not a place waiting for the “reality storm” that has brought them together to pass.
Since it is a collection of Sandman stories written by Neil Gaiman, all of the stories are extremely good, but there is one in particular that, for reasons that I’m not certain I could articulate, really stands out for me. Since I lost my original copy of the story I’ve missed it a good deal more than most of the others, and I was very eager to read it once again.
You can say what you will about the quality, or lack thereof, of the comics detailing the lives of Archie, Betty, Veronica, and the rest of the gang from Riverdale, but you can’t dispute the fact that with more than fifty years of continuous publication (I think; I have done ZERO fact-checking here. Suffice to say, they’ve been around for a while.), “Archie” comics obviously have some sort of appeal.
At various points in its history, DC Comics has tried to capitalize on that appeal, making various attempts at tapping into this potential market with comics such as “Binky,” with varying degrees of success.
It was, perhaps, in an additional attempt to gain inroads into the “Archie” demographic that in the 1970s DC launched a series titled “Prez.”
Whatever other motivations may have been behind its inception, the inspiration for “Prez” arose from the voting age being lowered to eighteen in 1972. Perhaps too impressed by the activism of the young people of the previous decade, and giving young people altogether too much credit, I think, DC imagined a world in which America’s youth stood up to be counted, taking their civic responsibilities to heart and ensuring that they would have a voice in government by pushing forward an initiative to lower the minimum age for holding office, including the Office of the President of the United States, to eighteen.
Thus, along came the propitiously named Prez Rickard. “Prez” was short for “President,” and he was so-named by his mother who had prophesied that he would one day become President.
Turns out that, like mine with the whole time going faster thing, his mom was right.
(As an aside, so far I have at least managed to consistently prove my mother wrong about the whole “You’ll meet the right person someday” thing…)
So the titular Prez became the youngest President in U.S. History.
My only real familiarity with “Prez” consisted simply of knowing that a comic book by that title had existed and having a dim notion of what the premise was.
I remember thinking that the whole thing was profoundly silly, and it’s my understanding that it pretty much was, if not just entirely bizarre.
And yet…
One of the stories in the “Worlds’ End” collection, and, in fact, the specific story I’m talking about, is actually about Prez, and at the time it served as his first appearance in publication in twenty years.
Throughout the years I’ve remembered the story often, and fondly, since, as I mentioned, for reasons that I can’t articulate (thus sparing you from a lengthy examination of the story), somehow resonates with me.
As silly and bizarre as the basic premise may be, Gaiman managed to craft a story that was moving, sad, and hopeful, and which has stuck with me for more than eleven years.
Reading it again, today, a week after the results of our most recent Presidential election, I can’t help but be especially moved by the story, and think about how there’s one other thing that I’ve heard about getting older that seems to be true.
And as my idealism fades more and more with each rapidly passing day, I really wish that people could be wrong just a little more often.
Want to learn more about Prez? Go here: http://www.toonopedia.com/prez.htm
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Quick update
I know I would misquote him if I tried to remember exactly what he said, so rather than do that, I will paraphrase an idea that author Larry Niven once put forth.
Well, he may have put forth the idea more than once, but I only encountered it once.
In any case the idea was that a writer’s worst enemy is another writer.
This isn’t due to some sort of competition, but due instead to the fact that anyone who wants to write is likely going to be someone who likes to read.
The most valuable asset a writer has, more so than a good word processing program, a command of the language, or even a good idea, is time.
So Niven’s theory was that, if you’re a writer, other writers can rob you of time by luring you in and getting you to while away your precious hours reading what they’ve written rather than writing your own stories.
He definitely had a point, I think, though he certainly didn’t suggest that writers shouldn’t read. On the contrary, reading, for a writer, really is fundamental.
Still, you do need to find the right balance between exploring the ideas of others and putting your own ideas down on paper (or on hard drive, as the case may be).
For me, that balance has been a little skewed so far this week as I find myself being suckered in by other writers.
As such I’ve made very little progress on “15,000 Years,” and even less progress here.
But I have finished with most of the reading material that’s really been capturing my attention, so hopefully we’ll see some progress, in both places, over the next couple of days.
After all, I do have plenty of time, and no intention of leaving my apartment for any extended period of time between now and Friday morning.
In any case, I thought I should at least pop in and say hello to anyone who may be out there and keep you apprised of my progress.
Well, he may have put forth the idea more than once, but I only encountered it once.
In any case the idea was that a writer’s worst enemy is another writer.
This isn’t due to some sort of competition, but due instead to the fact that anyone who wants to write is likely going to be someone who likes to read.
The most valuable asset a writer has, more so than a good word processing program, a command of the language, or even a good idea, is time.
So Niven’s theory was that, if you’re a writer, other writers can rob you of time by luring you in and getting you to while away your precious hours reading what they’ve written rather than writing your own stories.
He definitely had a point, I think, though he certainly didn’t suggest that writers shouldn’t read. On the contrary, reading, for a writer, really is fundamental.
Still, you do need to find the right balance between exploring the ideas of others and putting your own ideas down on paper (or on hard drive, as the case may be).
For me, that balance has been a little skewed so far this week as I find myself being suckered in by other writers.
As such I’ve made very little progress on “15,000 Years,” and even less progress here.
But I have finished with most of the reading material that’s really been capturing my attention, so hopefully we’ll see some progress, in both places, over the next couple of days.
After all, I do have plenty of time, and no intention of leaving my apartment for any extended period of time between now and Friday morning.
In any case, I thought I should at least pop in and say hello to anyone who may be out there and keep you apprised of my progress.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
