bookfart

I'M FINISHED!

2011-12-11T20:14:00.008-05:00

Well, sorta. I mean, the bulk of the writing is done; I've written the beginning, the middle, the end, and all the parts in-between. But there's still a metric ton of editing I have to do. I've actually been finished for almost a week now, but I've been elbows-deep in the B.I.P. since then, overhauling some of the earlier chapters that were in serious need of work.

I printed out the B.I.P. (321 pages!) and gave it a quick read to see if it was coherent, and it mostly is. I don't want to jinx myself, but all the character arcs looked okay, and there didn't seem to be a need for any complete rewrites. There was one chapter that needed a baby rewrite, though, because the concept was solid, but the execution was terrible, and I ended up trashing about 50% of it and filling in the gaps with unicorn blood. You know. Like you do with babies.

So my game plan to spend the rest of the holiday season editing and drinking all the 'nog, and then start fishing for agents in the new year.

Happy Holidays!

P.S. Write my query letter for me.

Happy Appaween!

2011-10-31T16:33:00.009-04:00

Only a pumpkinbender could've created such a festive animal.

Finished the last Kallie chapter today. Starting work on the epilogue tomorrow. 85,000 words so far.

A quick update.

2011-08-11T18:51:00.009-04:00

So. If you have been paying attention, you will see I am a little less than 10,000 words away from the 80,000 words I said it would take me to finish.

The problem is that, like an accordion, or maybe a snake, or an accordion made of snakes, the end point of my B.I.P. seems to be stretching away from me. Not ludicrously far, but I think I'll need an extra 5 to 10,000 words to tell the story I'm trying to tell.

I'm trying very hard to make the deadline, and I'm writing everyday, but there is the possibility I will not make it.

IOWA

2011-07-21T19:15:00.007-04:00

In two days! Gotta make sure I pack everything I need. Enough clothes for a week, phone, phone charger, extraneous bathroom supplies, Nintendo DS + game cards, regular deck of cards, iPod + speakers, glow $ticks, etc. Oh, lots of documentation, too. Hotel + shuttle confirmation and the like. Thirteen copies of my first chapter + synopsis. Blerg. I should make a list. I'mma need a suitcase for all this shiznit.

FUCK IT. IDEC. I AM EXCITE.

DON'T YA TRY TO CATCH MEH.

It's a stupid feeling, is what I'm trying to say.

2011-06-30T19:44:00.009-04:00

You know how when you have something to do, and you don't do it, the guilt over not doing it steadily increases day by day as you inch closer to the deadline, even if you distract yourself with copious amounts of beer and video games? It's like a physical weight. You can't really enjoy anything because a part of you is always like, Wow, you really should be writing right now or, at the very least, editing.

And then another part of you is like, Is there an eHow on self-lobotomies?

And THEN when you are actually doing whatever you're supposed to be doing, that first part of you finally admits, If I knew how much this was going to suck tits, I wouldn't have pressured you into it.

Anyway, I just finished editing the synopsis and first chapter of my B.I.P. Shipping them out tomorrow!

This may be asking for trouble...

2011-06-12T19:18:00.010-04:00

But I've set a deadline for myself. I will be finished by the first day of fall. Which Google informs me is September 23rd. So I added that nifty little countdown timer to the right because countdowns are nifty.

And by "finished," I mean "finished assuming my book will be roughly 80,000 words." So there you are.

I plan on writing at least 300 words-a-day from now until the 24th excluding my birthday (!!!) and the eight days I'll be in Iowa for their Summer Writing Festival. I'm taking their Advanced Novel Workshop, and I am slightly terrified only because I have to write a synopsis of my B.I.P. and I have never written a synopsis before.

I am literally a pussy. Just kidding. I know what that means.

In any case, I'll try to update bookfart more often. Perhaps continue that long-overdue review of Masked? Who the fuck knows?

Marcus. Marcus knows.

Marcus is literally a pussy.

Why, yes...

2011-02-22T20:31:00.005-05:00

I will be writing this Marcus chapter for the rest of my life, thank you kindly for asking.

P.S. The main document of the book-in-progress has reached 500 KB. No idea what that means, but it caught my eye as I was backing it up. (ALWAYS BACK UP YOUR WORK.)

My writing method is rearranging Post-it® notes on a wall.

2011-02-10T17:52:00.007-05:00

This Marcus chapter will be the death of me.

(Can I have my money now, 3M?)

NOOOOOO

2011-02-07T20:24:00.006-05:00

MY POOR CHARACTERS, WHAT AM I DOING TO YOU? I AM SO SORRY.

WHERE IS THE BEER

Sorry.

2011-01-23T16:57:00.004-05:00

The next Masked review will be up this week. You will soon understand why it's taken me so long to touch this one.

Canon.

2010-12-28T15:28:00.004-05:00

Are the drabbles on this blog canon? I go by the basic rule that if it doesn't conflict with anything established in the B.I.P. (book-in-progress) then it's potential canon.

It is my displeasure to announce that, as of today, I'm Not Lyin', I'm Just Stunnin' With My Love-Glue-Gunnin' is no longer canon-compliant due to changes in Marcus's backstory. Hermaphrodite City being his favorite song, however, is still canon by virtue of that detail appearing in Goin' Places That I've Never Been, Seein' Things That I May Never See Again.

That is all.

Merry Christmas, dicks!

2010-12-25T00:05:00.006-05:00

Masked Review: The Non-Event

2010-12-17T21:21:00.018-05:00

Author: Mike Carey. His offical website is here.

Review! Spoilers henceforth.

---

The Non-Event reminds me of The Usual Suspects even though I've never seen The Usual Suspects. So that may have been a totally useless sentence. I know Kevin Spacey was in it, though.

"This dildo will be the death of Superman."

The Non-Event starts off with our narrator, Davey, giving the police a confession after a heist goes horribly awry. What goes awry, you ask? Just the largest plot hole in the fictional universe. A plot black hole that sucks away all logic from the story and crushes it into oblivion.

But when we ran through the plan, it was obvious it still had a serious flaw. Probably more than one, if the truth be told, but certainly one that kind of jumped up, grabbed you by the collar, and screamed "serious fucking flaw!"

It's like Davey can read my mind.

We'll start off by listing the important members of this heist. There's Davey, AKA Lockjaw, who can sweet talk locks into spreading their tumblers toward the sky. Next is Perspective who has the power of re-sizing objects. Useful for stuffing the entire contents of a vault into a lead-lined pencil case. And lastly, there is Gallo, AKA Non-Event, whose power nullifies other powers. It basically seems to cause stuff not to work:

Car engines misfired. Phone calls got disconnected. Card readers on ATM machines became dyslexic. BIC lighters refused to spark. Even the wind died.

(ATM MACHINES???? DID YOU INPUT YOUR PIN NUMBER CORRECTLY???? I HOPE YOU DIDN'T CATCH THE HIV VIRUS!!!!)

See? It goes mostly unexplained why certain things are affected and others not. Like, do any of these things have anything in common? Is there something similar about cars, cell phones, superpowers, and the wind? I have no fucking idea. Does the author? I have no fucking idea.

Proceeding on, Perspective opens a bank account and asks to see her security deposit box. While she's in the vault, Lockjaw and a couple other unimportant characters teleport in, take out the security guards, and spring the locks. Perspective starts shoving everything that isn't glued down into her pencil case and they make their way toward the exit.

Sidebar: Perspective drops the miniaturized loot. It makes a "deafening clatter." Why? Does it still have the same mass? If so, it should be impossible to carry. Unless she has super strength. If she has super strength, you think she could have helped when they were punching out the guards. Also, she's clumsy. What forces her to drop the loot? A sinister boom. She trips over it. Everyone else managed to step over it. It's probably because she's a woman.

So there they are. Countless riches in hand, no one the wiser. What do they do? Why announce they're robbing the place, of course. Or rather, that they had already robbed it. Why stroll out of the bank when you can call massive attention to yourself?

Let's say I were to murder a pair of clowns. The most logical thing to do, if I wanted to get away with it, would be to drag the bodies to a police station and sign a confession.

Am... I free to go?

Superheroes, understandably, begin to show up. But don't worry! Because the heist's ring leader has a gun! And there is Non-Event! Standing in line! If he freaks out! He will prevent everyone's superpowers from working! The villains will have the advantage! Especially from the cops arriving at any second! Who will also have guns! And then the villains can make their getaway in their getaway car! Which will not work! Because of Non-Event's superpower! Let's break his elbow! FUCK YEAH ASLAN FUCK YEAH

Oh, wait. Perspective dropped the pencil case. Its lead-lining cracked. It's now subject to Non-Event's nullification. It explodes and people die.

Davey shoots Gallo in the head so his power will stop. He gets arrested. The end.

1.5 out of 5. It's not written too badly; Davey actually has a distinct voice and there's some strong characterization. But, man, the logic of The Non-Event is just not there. I could plan a better heist in my sleep. I could plan a better heist while on fire.

So I was thinking we could not be dumb as shit and become fabulously rich. How does that sound?

Wordle.

2010-11-23T14:14:00.014-05:00

http://www.wordle.net/

Wordle is a toy for generating “word clouds” from text that you provide. The clouds give greater prominence to words that appear more frequently in the source text.

Cool and useless. Like most things.

Wordle of the book-in-progress, one hundred-ish pages in:

If you click on the picture, it will get bigger. Like magic. Oh no! I mean... As magic. Whew.

I guess it could tip you off to words you're using too often. I take back the useless bit. Except some words get counted twice, like Danny and Danny's, look and looks, and Red and... Red. So maybe it is useless. But it's still cool, damn it.

Masked Review: Secret Identity

2010-11-18T20:03:00.045-05:00

Paul Cornell wrote this story. Who, if you did not know, also worked on Doctor Who. What episode, you ask? Oh, just "Human Nature" and "The Family of Blood." Also known as the most quotable two-partner of Doctor Who EVER.

His blog is located here.

He's kinda cute, too.

On to the review! Watch out for spoilers.

---

There's this scene only a couple pages in where a group of university kids try to get into a gay bar. The bouncer refuses them entry on the basis that they're straight. The Manchester Guardian doesn't understand how this makes sense. The bouncer explains they're only here to point and laugh. The Manchester Guardian still doesn't understand, and frankly, neither do I.

What kind of straight people go to a gay bar just to make fun? Have they never heard of lesbians? Have they never even seen a lesbian? If there is one thing I know to be true, it's that you NEVER fuck with lesbians. The only conclusion I can draw is that these kids have absolutely no problem with... No. They actively desire to wake up in a Dumpster the next morning, their wallets and purses empty, their faces broken up and reconstructed like they'd been worked on by a knife-wielding Picasso.

The before is on the right. Don't laugh. She'll never be a model now.

The Manchester Guardian is the superhero of Secret Identity if you haven't caught that yet. He's gay. Not just a superhero who's gay, but a gay superhero. The difference is important and necessary to this short story. As a gay superhero, the Manchester Guardian can't wear a mask. It wouldn't make any sense. He'd be hiding who he was.

It's here where a number of Superman parallels pop up. The Manchester Guardian's real name is Chris Atlas. His boyfriend's name is Jim Ashton. Jim gets referred to (in story!) as Lois Lane. Chris wears glasses, and Jim lampshades what a piss poor disguise that is. Because, really, everyone in the Superman-verse is probably brain-damaged from all the kryptonite that's just lying around, saturating their water supply. Plus, both Superman and the Manchester Guardian have the same powers. Although, Superman's are because he's an alien, and the Manchester Guardian gets his through a magic word. Which is more Captain Marvel than anything else, but whatever.

You also get the question of who exactly Jim is dating. Is it Chris or the Manchester Guardian? This is something I associate more with the movie Spider-Man 3. If you've never seen it, there's this scene where Mary Jane flips a shit over Spider-Man kissing another woman for some publicity photographs. Never mind that Mary Jane is an actress and KISSES OTHER PEOPLE ALL THE TIME.

IRL, too! What a bitch.

Here's where the twist comes in. When Chris is the Manchester Guardian, he's straight. When he utters the magic word, his body changes. Muscles forged from pure fire and testosterone, flight, bulletproof teeth, etc. A side effect, Chris and Jim speculate, is that his brain chemistry alters in such a subtle way it renders him heterosexual. He's already had sex with a female cat bugler (holy shout out, Batman!) and he's afraid he won't be able to resist next time he encounters her.

Jim is understandably upset at this turn of events. And it's nice to know that Chris is, too. He wouldn't be very heroic if he wasn't.

Luckily, much earlier in the story, he was able to procure a supervillain's hat that grants wishes so he's able to wish himself into two separate entities. Chris and the Manchester Guardian. Happy endings for everyone!

See, I liked Secret Identity. It's a cute story and doesn't try to be anything other than that. There's minimal angst, the dialogue is realistic, and I LOL'd in multiple places. As opposed to Cleansed and Set in Gold, which had a great premise and only a so-so execution, Secret Identity has an eh premise, but it's polished perfectly. It manages to hit every note it needs to succeed. We get little details here and there on how the world has adapted to superheroes and villains; it even touches on issues of coming out, acceptance, and identity. Normally I'd probably give a story like this a 3, but since Paul Cornell obviously knows what he's doing, I have to give it a 4 out of 5. He really took the time to edit and make what little plot he had shine.

JUST SHUT UP STOP TALKING CEASE AND DESIST THERE'S A GOOD GIRL

My bad.

2010-11-17T16:39:00.008-05:00

Day 13: Rock + Day 14: Ghost

2010-11-05T18:51:00.009-04:00

Day 12: Bug

2010-11-03T23:26:00.012-04:00

Day 11: Psychic

2010-11-02T21:27:00.005-04:00

I'm behind by how many, you say?

2010-11-01T19:14:00.015-04:00

Every day will be a different type. Post your favorite Pokémon of that day’s type. Provide a picture and an explanation as to why you love it.

Day 1: Normal
Day 2: Fire
Day 3: Water
Day 4: Electric
Day 5: Grass
Day 6: Ice
Day 7: Fighting
Day 8: Poison
Day 9: Ground
Day 10: Flying
Day 11: Psychic
Day 12: Bug
Day 13: Rock
Day 14: Ghost
Day 15: Dragon
Day 16: Dark
Day 17: Steel

Swinub is too cute for words.

If Pokémon were real, I would own one in five seconds. Maybe four seconds. I seriously can't handle how cute this thing is. Let's move on.

Toxicroak. Technically, this is cheating because he's a Poison-type first, Fighting-type second, but fuck that noise. He was the first Generation IV Pokémon that caught my eye with its badassness, and I usually hate Fighting-types.

Plus, he's a fucking poison dart frog. I mean, that's awesome. The only thing more aweso-ALL GLORY TO HYPNOTOAD

That's Muk. I think the reason I like Muk is 'cause I have fond memories of it from the anime. He was always trying to hug Ash, and Ash would be all like, "WTF GET OFF ME YOU LITERALLY ARE MADE OF MEDICAL WASTE." And I LOL'd forever.

And now deviantART is freaking out on me. We will have to make use of official pictures from this point forward. GOD DAMN IT, DEVIANTART. DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I AM TRYING TO COMPLETE A POKÉMON MEME.

I'm sorry. Did you just shit your pants? Steelix has that effect on people. Yeah, yeah, he's primarily a Steel-type, but I stopped giving a fuck two Pokémon ago, nerd.

FYI, there are no Pokémon with Flying as their primary type. Well, technically there's one, but it looks like this:

deviantART is working again. This is the best it would give me.

What is that? It's like my brain breaks looking at it. What am I looking at? Why does it have a squid tentacle coming out of its cloud-ass? Why is it so buff and green? Is it related to the Hulk? Is it an elf? It has pointy ears. WHAT AM I LOOKING AT?

This is Drifloon. It is a balloon. Ghost/Flying-type. I like it. That is all.

A thousand apologies. Wait. Just kidding. You only get two.

2010-10-27T21:12:00.012-04:00

Every day will be a different type. Post your favorite Pokémon of that day’s type. Provide a picture and an explanation as to why you love it.

Day 1: Normal
Day 2: Fire
Day 3: Water
Day 4: Electric
Day 5: Grass
Day 6: Ice
Day 7: Fighting
Day 8: Poison
Day 9: Ground
Day 10: Flying
Day 11: Psychic
Day 12: Bug
Day 13: Rock
Day 14: Ghost
Day 15: Dragon
Day 16: Dark
Day 17: Steel

Favorite Electric-type? Rotom. But only its Mow form. Why? Because it's a fucking lawn mower.

Can you imagine? "Hey, Rotom. Mow my lawn. Wait, some d-bag wants to battle. Mow them first. No. Mow them the fuck down."

Granted, there's also a microwave Rotom, and he could heat up your pizza rolls for you which wins in terms of usefulness, I guess, but c'mon. Look at Mow Rotom's smile. Look at that grin. He wants to kill. He's glad to kill. He's Patrick Bateman as a Pokémon.

The other Rotom forms don't look anything like that. The fridge Rotom even looks a little sad. And that's lame.

FYI, Rotom can posses different electric objects. He's Electric/Ghost normally, but if he possess a washing machine or a microwave oven, he's Electric/Water or Electric/Fire, respectively. A refrigerator, Electric/Ice. A fan, Electric/Flying. And a lawn mower, Electric/Grass.

So how about those Grass-types? (Smooth transition, fuck yeah.) My favorite? Torterra.

Look at that. He's like some epic dinosaur/snapping turtle hybrid. And I love dinosaurs. I also love turtles. Therefore, I love Torterra.

Growlithe loves him too. In a... different way.

Disclaimer: Memes are not intended to educate.

2010-10-25T22:51:00.013-04:00

Every day will be a different type. Post your favorite Pokémon of that day’s type. Provide a picture and an explanation as to why you love it.

Day 1: Normal
Day 2: Fire
Day 3: Water
Day 4: Electric
Day 5: Grass
Day 6: Ice
Day 7: Fighting
Day 8: Poison
Day 9: Ground
Day 10: Flying
Day 11: Psychic
Day 12: Bug
Day 13: Rock
Day 14: Ghost
Day 15: Dragon
Day 16: Dark
Day 17: Steel

I had a hard time picking out my favorite Water-type Pokémon. One of the new Generation V 'mons is Water/Ghost, which is a pretty awesome type combination, but mostly it just has a pretty awesome handlebar mustache:

If you find yourself suddenly craving Pringles, do not be alarmed. This is perfectly natural.

Ultimately, I had to go with Sharpedo. Who, wait for it... wait for it...

I said, wait for it.

... is a MOTHERFUCKING SHARK TORPEDO.

I can sense you asking a very stupid question right now, and to save you some embarrassment, the answer is jet propulsion.

Shark + Torpedo = Awesome. What more do you need? Okay, maybe a handlebar mustache, but now you're getting greedy.

The thing is: This dude is fast. And his Attack is huge. He will be all up on your shit while you are out with your mistress, and you will be off your guard because the sun will be shining, and there won't be a cloud in the sky, and you will be tanning on your yacht made of gold, looking forward to a peanut butter and jelly and sex sandwich later, or maybe something freaky, like not using any bread this time, and Sharpedo will sink your fucking yacht and impregnate your mistress faster than you can say, "OMG THIS ENTIRE SCENARIO IS COMPLETELY PLAUSIBLE."

As with Mike Tyson, you must not look Sharpedo in the eyes. (Also pictured: Crawdaunt, a giant fucking lobster. May potentially be delicious with butter unless it has you with butter first.)

Day 2: Fire

2010-10-24T17:31:00.016-04:00

Anniversary.

2010-10-23T16:33:00.018-04:00

Today is the one year anniversary of bookfart. Did you think you were getting something special? Think again. You are getting a Pokémon meme. Fuck you. This is my blog, and I can do what I want.

---

Every day will be a different type. Post your favorite Pokémon of that day’s type. Provide a picture and an explanation as to why you love it.

Day 1: Normal
Day 2: Fire
Day 3: Water
Day 4: Electric
Day 5: Grass
Day 6: Ice
Day 7: Fighting
Day 8: Poison
Day 9: Ground
Day 10: Flying
Day 11: Psychic
Day 12: Bug
Day 13: Rock
Day 14: Ghost
Day 15: Dragon
Day 16: Dark
Day 17: Steel

Ursaring.

This is one badass mofo right here. He's a motherfucking bear. Look how awesome he is. He will fuck your shit up.

Look, now he has a sammich. Even Charizard, who, by the way, is a motherfucking dragon, is motherfucking jealous. Mother. Fucking. Jealous. You wish you had a sammich. Hell, I wish I had a sammich. Too bad, 'cause Ursaring has it, and I like being alive.

Oh, some might say that this battle would be short. And they would be right. Because Ursaring would win in about three-tenths of a second. Ursaring is weak to only one type. Fighting. Does Aerodactyl learn any Fighting attacks? One. Just one. And it only does 40 damage. He wouldn't even feel that. Nice try, dumbass. Aerodactyl, on the other hand, is weak to five different types and Ursaring can learn four of them. Yeah, that's four different ways of fucking you up, Aerodactyl. Maybe you should write that egg off as a loss and back the fuck off. He is a motherfucking bear. You are a mother. Back it up. Shit.

Masked Review: Where Their Worm Dieth Not

2010-10-18T21:04:00.014-04:00

So we're gonna start with the rating this time. It gets a 5 out of 5.

The author is James Maxey. This is his blog: http://jamesmaxey.blogspot.com/

He has a second blog dedicated to just his fiction work, and that can be found here: http://dragonprophet.blogspot.com/

Review, review, review. Spoilers, obviously.

---

Atomahawk. How would you pronounce that? A-tom-a-hawk? Atom-a-hawk? I couldn't make up my mind. I still can't. He's a Native American superhero with a "fusion reactor where his heart should be." This allows him to fly and shoot lasers out of his fingertips. So maybe it is supposed to Atom-a-hawk? That sounds so awkward, though. Whatever. He's not the main character; it's not important.

The main character is Retaliator. Real name: Eric Gray. He has no real powers, but his cardiovascular system is bulletproof. I'm not really sure how that would be helpful unless... well, let's pretend your cardiovascular system is bulletproof. Is it bulletproof in such a way that if I shot you in the chest, the web of veins and arteries underneath your skin could catch the bullet? And stop it from, let's say, shredding a hole in your lung? Because it says here that you are scarred from all your crime-fighting. Which means that your skin has been cut at some point in time. Which means that your veins and arteries are doing nothing to hold your skin together, despite being made from "high-tech bioplastics from the twenty-eight century." So if I cut you with a knife, it would cut around your cardiovascular system? What would that even look like? Is that even possible? Would you not bleed? I NEED MORE INFORMATION, GOD DAMN IT.

Also. This is Retaliator's costume: "... black leather pants, knee-high boots with about a hundred silver buckles, leather gloves that laced up his forearm, and a black mask that concealed all his features save for zippered slits at the eyes, mouth, and nostrils."

Got that? Good.

Those are the clothes his father was found dead in.

Yes. That's right. He's wearing his dead father's sex outfit. As his superhero costume.

Think about that for a while. I won't.

And just try to make sense of this.

Honestly, it's actually a nice bit of foreshadowing. Because, ask yourself, what kind of person would wear the clothes his father died in? Never mind that he wears them as his superhero costume, or that they're some hardcore bondage attire. A fucked up person, right? A really fucked up person. And then take into account that bondage carries with it connotations of punishment and discipline, along with an absence of power and control. And then! He wears it as his symbol of power. Which shows, I think, the fundamental problem here. The one who wears the zippered mask isn't the one in control.

What I really like about Where Their Worm Dieth Not is that it deals with the ubiquitous ability of comic book characters to come back to life. The only comic book character to not get reconned back into existence, as far as I know, is Uncle Ben. Which probably pisses Peter Parker off permanently.

"'PROBABLY PISSES PETER PARKER OFF PERMANENTLY?' DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THAT IS TO SAY OUT LOUD?"

There's another character I haven't introduced yet. She-Devil. She's got some magic mojo and her whole schtick is to punish the wickedest of men.

Did I mention that Retaliator has an armed robber locked up in his basement? And that he tortures him? Daily? And will eventually kill him? This armed robber is seventeen years old, by the way.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Where Their Worm Dieth Not closes with Retaliator's best friend dead, his worst enemy dead, his wife dead. He chooses suicide and the implication is that he's killed himself before. But She-Devil wipes his memory and brings everyone back to life, just to torment him over and over again.

"Not kewl, She-Devil. Not kewl."

What can I say? I liked this one.

Hiatus.

2010-08-31T15:17:00.004-04:00

I'll be in Florida for most of the month of September so don't expect any blog updates until I get back. (Well, you can expect all you want, I suppose, just don't hold your breath.) Also, I will be continuing my review of Masked; August just got a little hectic, so no worries there.

Have a fantastic Labor Day weekend! I know I will!

You need to catch up.

Masked Review: Cleansed and Set in Gold

2010-08-12T21:44:00.021-04:00

The author of Cleansed and Set in Gold is Matthew Sturges. I am unfamiliar with him and his work so I have nothing to say about... well, him and his work. I do like his title choice, though.

Also, this is his blog: http://matthewsturges.com/wordpress/

On to the review! SPOILERS AHEAD.

---

Let's get this out of the way.

"She clearly could care less what I make of the Ghoul King, and I don't even bother to answer her."

ORLY?

/anal annie

In other news, his use of the present tense gets a gold star from me.

So the main character of Cleansed and Set in Gold (C&SG) is named David Caulfield, his superhero alias is Wildcard. His superpower is variable. You never know what he's going to show up to a battle with. Invisibility? Maybe. Flight? It's possible. Underwear outside of his pants? You know it. Funnily enough, the only powers he expresses are of his fellow superheroes in the League of Heroes. Simple, right?

The twist is that he's a cannibal. That's how he gets his powers. Any heroes or villians who die, he digs up and stores in his secret refrigerated lair (Sidebar: His secret refrigerated lair is accessible from his apartment. I'm not sure how that works.) and eats as needed.

Honestly, the first time I read C&SG I was like, WHAT THE MUFF, LAMEFACE?

The second time, I liked it a lot more.

There was this nice bit of foreshadowing in the beginning that I missed but caught on the second read. It seems obvious now, but at the time I just thought, "Oh, yeah, eating makes me feel better, too." I dunno, the whole eat-the-flesh-of-your-enemies-to-gain-their-strength trope is extremely old but it's stuck around. I mean, it's in District 9, and that only came out last year.

But then it's like... what about hair and nails and stuff? There's this part at the end when he eats part of his still-living enemy and gains her power, so obviously he doesn't have to eat already dead people. Or, hey, hey, hey, David could try giving out some blowjobs and see if that worked. Plus, how did he even discover his superpower? And what constitutes a power? If he ate a fish, could he swim real fast and breathe underwater? If he ate some beef, would he taste delicious?

Maybe this short story would have worked better as a book. Or maybe there just could have been a Q&A afterward.

(Sidebar again: Back to his secret refrigerated lair, sorry. David is being interviewed by this reporter, and he shows her the false wall that leads to his lair. He notes she is "impressed" and I JUST figured out why. SHE THINKS YOU CAN BEND SPACE AND TIME, DAVID. SHE THINKS YOU ARE A TIME LORD.)

I HUNGER FOR FLESH

C&SG gets another gold star for its focus on character relationships.

LOL. Look what I wrote in my notes: More characters involved in an action scene, the harder it is to do. Matthew Sturges manages to skirt around this law by killing off his heroes as quick as possible.

It's true, too. This League of Heroes is really more of a Group of Heroes. And by the end, it's pretty much just a Couple. David's got to power his superpower somehow.

Oh, and there's this weird interaction toward the beginning of C&SG where it's revealed David has a love of words. I was waiting for it to come into play again, but no. Never again.

There's not much more for me to say about C&SG without going real in-depth, blah, blah, symbolism, blah, blah, who cares. There's a scene where David gives that reporter I mentioned earlier the interview of her life, but the only reason I take issue with it is because I would have done it differently and that's a lame reason not to like something. Matthew Sturges did it his way; it's his story, and I'm not going to go all, I HATE THIS WRITE IT MY WAY OR ELSE DAMN IT

AND. There is a lot of dialogue. A lot of it was unnecessary. At first I felt like Sturges was doing it because he normally works with comic books, so lots of dialogue is just business as usual for him. But then he lampshaded it at one point because David is like, "I'm saying this aloud, but the words aren't really necessary." FUCKIN' A, DAVID. FUCKIN' A.

So what? Good concept. Slightly uneven execution. No plot holes, but some major backstory holes. 4.5 out of 5. I'm being a little generous here because a couple of the stories to come are so bad, this one seems... *puts on sunglasses* ...cleansed and set in gold.

YEAAAAAAH!

Masked Review: The Introduction!

2010-08-09T18:23:00.018-04:00

Masked is AN AWE-INSPIRING ANTHOLOGY OF ALL-ORGINIAL SUPERHERO FICTION.

THIS IS THE COVER.

I figure I'll review Masked story by story, and be warned, there will be spoil-

SPOILERS!

GOD DAMN IT, RIVER SONG. GET OUT OF MY BLOG.

SPOILERS! GIMME UR WALLET.

Oh. Here. Just go, okay? Go.

SPOILERS! U DUN BEEN RAPED 2.

FUUUUUUUUU-

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY.

2010-07-18T11:51:00.000-04:00

I AM SO OLD.

I write like...

2010-07-13T18:13:00.013-04:00

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

This has been passing around the LiveJournals, so I thought I'd give it a try. I used the first chapter of my BIP. Like a WIP, but with a book.

Honestly, I don't think I've read that much Palahniuk. I mean, I stole Q's copy of Fight Club, and I have Haunted lying around here someplace. I liked both, but not enough to consider myself a fan. A fan lite? Or maybe this means I'm his arch-nemesis.

This is what you get if you Google "Chuck Palahniuk" and "arch-nemesis."

Who do you write like?

UPDATE: In an I-should-have-seen-it-coming twist, this post is also written like Palahniuk.

Outtake.

2010-06-06T17:16:00.012-04:00

Or deleted scene? I'm not really sure. Context: Marcus and Danny need to break into a psychiatric hospital to break someone out. This was my first crack at this scene. Originally, I wanted it to be kind of whimsical and silly, but then I realized that that tone was all wrong.

This scene is obviously unfinished and ends pretty abruptly, but I thought you guys might enjoy seeing what could have been. Even though only Q knows how it actually is. So... yeah.

---

"Name?"

"Danny."

He doesn't look up. "Your last name?"

"Um. Banana."

"Okay, Mr. Umbanana. I'm going to need you to fill out this form, and then someone will be around to show you to your uncle."

He takes the plastic clipboard and picks a pen made to look like a quill out of a basket. "Ah. Thanks." The nurse has already moved onto a phone call. Danny picks a seat near the glowing exit sign and takes a look at question number one.

Name?

Easy enough. Danny. Umbanana, he scribbles down with some regret.

Date? Got it. Sex. Duh. Hometown. Yup, yeah, whatever. Social Security Number? Hm. He can't remember his SSN. He thinks it starts with a 9? Wait. No, a 1. It's not like he'd actually put down his real one, but that's not the point. It's lost somewhere, tucked underneath a squishy brain cell for safekeeping and then forgotten. Oh, well. He could make one up. 123-45-6789? Somehow he doesn't think that'll fly. He hates filling out forms anyway.

He slips his phone out. Presses some buttons. It doesn't even ring once.

"Hey, boo," Marcus says.

"My plan is kinda lame."

"Hot dog. I'll be right there."

Before he can even put his phone away, Marcus comes busting through the double doors. He's got what looks like dynamite duct taped to his torso. "Bomb!" he yells. "Bomb comin' through! I am a certified terrorist!"

Danny tosses his clipboard aside but pockets the pen because he thinks it's kind of nifty.

A round little boy stands up. "I'm pretty sure those are hot dogs, sir."

"Now you listen here. These are beef franks, one hundred percent. There is no possible way anyone could ever consider these hot dogs. Miss," he says to the boy's mother. "Your child is ignorant. Also, I can turn into a tigrrrr." He's begun to morph. The duct tape rips under the strain.

People gasp and cower and do all the stuff Greens do when they get scared. Danny's gun probably doesn't assuage them any.

I obviously did not know what I was talking about in the last post.

2010-05-22T12:54:00.002-04:00

The trouble with precognition is ALL THE EFFING MATH.

I can't keep my timeline straight.

Note.

2010-05-14T14:52:00.025-04:00

I have a sick and twisted love affair with the future tense.

Also, it is extremely difficult to write in the point-of-view of someone who can see the future.

That is all.

Edit: Just kidding. Here's an extremely rough excerpt of what I'm working on:

"The trouble with precognition is that it goes both ways. Marcus knows the past just like he knows the future. He also knows far more than that. How? That will take time to explain. A little time. Time is so relative. This is a concept you are already familiar with. But Marcus lives it. Lived it. Will live.

Do you understand yet? Pay close attention."

Edit 2: Reading over that snippet again, I see that it sucks. LOL.

Edit ∞: LOOK, IT'S A YOUNG JOHN MCCAIN!

He's a sexpot.

Question.

2010-04-11T16:21:00.023-04:00

Kallie is deaf. I represent any dialogue in sign language with italics.

The question is: How's aboot lip reading? I'm leaning toward "quotes" because the words are spoken; Kallie just can't hear them. Or do italics make more sense?

Appa says he loves you.

Edit: Kallie's POV is in second person. Here's an example of what a passage would look like with lip reading magic in italics, then the same passage with "quotes." Which one looks better/reads easier/is less confusing?

Red's jumping up and down in the bathroom. You can feel it underfoot. He's got himself twisted around so his ass is facing the mirror and his neck is cranked around as far as it will go.

You lean against the doorway. Yes, they make your ass look fat.

"Good," he mouths and stops jumping. "Wait." Fat like I got a little junk in the trunk fat, or fat like I got a whole bunch of illegal aliens back there and I'm trying to sneak them across the border fat?

Regard him curiously. How much are you charging them?

Nothing. But! But they're paying for gas.

Roll your eyes. As long as they're paying for gas.

OR

Red's jumping up and down in the bathroom. You can feel it underfoot. He's got himself twisted around so his ass is facing the mirror and his neck is cranked around as far as it will go.

You lean against the doorway. Yes, they make your ass look fat.

Good, he mouths and stops jumping. Wait. Fat like I got a little junk in the trunk fat, he signs, or fat like I got a whole bunch of illegal aliens back there and I'm trying to sneak them across the border fat?

Regard him curiously. How much are you charging them?

Nothing. But! But they're paying for gas.

Roll your eyes. As long as they're paying for gas.

Edit 2: AND WHAT ABOUT CLOSED CAPTIONING? AAARGH

As a placeholder I'm using these things right now: []. Like, [Diane, I'm standing outside the Park Barrington Hotel because they don't allow Asians inside.] Better options? Should I stick with italics? I hate this.

Edit 3: SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS EVERYBODY

SPOILERS

2010-04-01T00:01:00.004-04:00

The LAST THREE PAGES of the book!!!!

(@_@)

Lady GaGa doesn't wobble so much as an inch on her Alexander McQueen platform heels. The crown on her head seems to be cut from black construction paper; one of its tines is bent. The smoke from her sunglasses streams toward the ceiling.

"That boy is bad," she says. "And honestly, he's a wolf in disguise."

"Um. What?"

Marcus's face splits open; his muzzle erupts and whiskers unfurl into the open air. "What did you call me?"

Sara pokes her head out of the bathroom. "Who the magic carpet ride was – IS THAT LADY GAGA?"

Lady GaGa strikes a pose, hands on hips, elbows out. "Don't call me GaGa." The oversized metal chains hanging from her neck clank against her studded bikini.

Danny scratches his head. "Then what... should we call... you?"

"She's my nemesis," Marcus growls.

"I wish my nemesis was Lady muffin' GaGa," Sara says. "Also, I wish I had nemesis. Also, I want to have sex with Lady GaGa."

"Shut it." Marcus's tails whips back and forth. "You don't understand what she is."

"She's a singer?" Danny offers.

"She's an abomination. I can't see her. Not in the past. Not in the future."

"But you can see her right now."

"Don't be an idgit. She's dangerous." He bares his long curved teeth.

"You can't read my poker face," Lady GaGa explains, then grabs her crotch. The crown on her head has been replaced by a telephone made out of fluorescent yellow hair.

"Where do you think I should get her autograph? On my boobs?" Sara pulls down the collar of her shirt and looks downward thoughtfully.

Marcus extends his claws and leaps.

Lady GaGa knocks him aside effortlessly with her disco stick, not a scratch marring her Kermit the Frog coat. He lands on all four paws on the opposite side of the room and rears back onto two.

He leaps at her again, and this time he pins her to the wall, his plate-sized paws swallowing her wrists, his mouth wide open, fangs dripping saliva.

Lady GaGa bites the air inches from Marcus's snarling lips. "I'm a free bitch, baby. Boy, now get your paws right off me." Her disco stick glows.

Instantly, he crumbles into an unconscious heap at her feet.

Danny pulls his gun from his holster. Points it at Lady GaGa. Takes a couple steps toward her. "What are you?"

"I'm k-kinda busy." She waves her disco stick, and his gun is encrusted with crystals.

"Hm. I guess I could still bludgeon you to death."

"Hey, you voodoo babies," Sara says. She holds up her hands. "Stop fighting. How about we try to get along? Is that too hard? Like Ron Jeremy? I don't think so. And, yeah, Lady GaGa is apparently some sort of Eldritch Abomination, so points to Marcus, but look at the ass on her! And aren't we all Eldritch Abominations, when you get right down to it? Let's look at her ass again. Can you turn around?"

Lady GaGa stops and places her hand over her heart. "You've left me speechless." The bat on her head smiles.

"I wasn't kidding. Turn around."

Lady GaGa reaches down and touches Marcus on the forehead. Her bubble dress squeaks. His eyes open.

"Just dance," she says to him. "Gonna be okay."

Before he can speak, she holds a finger up to her lips.

"Promise I’ll be kind." She flourishes her disco stick.

Marcus nods almost imperceptibly. His striped fur fades to pink skin.

"Wait. I don't understand," Danny says.

Lady GaGa turns to him. Her sunglasses are made out of razor blades.

"Okay. Never mind."

"Yeah." Sara pulls off her shirt. "I think my boobs would be best."

"Rah rah-ah-ah-ah, roma roma-ma-ma!" she commands. "Ga-ga, oh, la-la!"

Her disco stick is blinding.

TO BE CONTINUED...?

Teeth.

2010-03-30T20:14:00.005-04:00

Whoa! Almost went the whole month of March without an update. Sorry, sorry. Will try to post more often :o)

Accept this drabble as my apology. It takes place shortly after Kallie decides to start playing superhero. 361 words.

Title: Take a Bite of My Bad Girl Meat

Character(s): Kallie

---

You've done this before. But only once.

Let him follow you. He's been haunting the park all night, and the sharp tics of his neck remind you of a large bird-of-prey, the kind you've only seen on television, curved talons and widespread wings against the purple sky, giant eyes fixed on a perfect angle of decent. Then a pause, and the bird swoops down.

Let him swoop down upon you.

Block after block. Pass a 24/7 convenience store, fluorescent lights like pinpricks in the dark. You can't risk turning your head to see if he's still behind you, but the light casts his shadow ahead of him, and that's all you need.

Turn down an alleyway. There's a Dumpster nearby, rotting. Duck behind it. Blood pounds in your brain, and there's a lightness, a fluttering in your gut. A cockroach scuttles away from you.

His shadow fills the alleyway. Control your breathing. Wait until he steps into view. His polished shoes glisten.

Now. Do it now. Launch yourself at him, crash into him, smash him into the concrete wall. Your hand finds his neck and squeezes.

He looks down at you, eyes wide but blank and black. He shows you his teeth. Too many for his mouth, too sharp. His ripping and tearing teeth. His real teeth.

Don't be scared.

No. Not with your tendons like steel cables, your granite muscles. You are carved from stone, as solid as the Earth itself.

Yank him forward and slam his head back. He sags, and you let him topple onto a pile of garbage bags. Reach down, flip him over, and lift him off his feet. He's conscious, and you hold him there until he understands. You will be watching. You will show him no salvation if you see him again.

He closes his eyes. His lips move as if he were praying. He understands.

Drop him. Leave him there, among the wet cigarette butts and gnawing rats. The rush of adrenaline beats in your heart and electricity prickles your skin. You wish he had put up more of a fight. Maybe the next one will. Or maybe the next.

You can wait.

They're going to Disney World, by the way.

2010-02-28T19:06:00.008-05:00

417 words.

Title: Goin' Places That I've Never Been, Seein' Things That I May Never See Again

Character(s): Danny, Marcus, & Sara

---

Marcus holds his hand out the window and tries to catch the wind. "You're drivin' too slow," he says. "Look, everyone's passin' us."

"I am going," Danny says, "the speed limit."

"My Grandma could go faster than this in her rocking chair."

"Unless your Grandma's rocking chair was rocket-powered, I find that story highly suspect."

"Shut up, you fags," Sara says from the backseat. "And turn up the AC."

Danny exhales slowly. "The AC is as high as it will go."

"Well, I'm sweating my balls off."

"For the last time, Sara: You don't have any balls."

"Because I sweat them off! Shit. I should be driving. I could drive with my thoughts."

"If the only thing between me and death at 60-miles-per-hour were your thoughts, I would kill myself."

"That doesn't make any motherfucking sense."

"She's right, Danny boy."

"Listen. I am the one driving. That means everyone has to do what I say. And I say... Radio. I am turning on the radio. And we are listening to it." He twists a knob at random.

The speakers erupt. "GIM-GIM-GIMME HERMAPHRODITE CITY!"

"I hate this song," Sara says the same time Marcus says, "I love this song."

"Ah, the usual then, only two-thirds of us are happy."

"Maybe if you two didn't suck so much cock, we'd have more in common."

Danny squints at her in the rearview mirror. "Are you trying to tell us you're a lesbian?"

"N-no! God crap it, that's not what I meant."

"I do declare," Marcus says. "We've caught ourselves a regular ole carpet muncher in the backseat."

"CARPET IS THE LAST THING I MUNCH."

"It's okay, Sara. I heard Minnie just broke up with Mickey." Danny shrugs. "She's probably looking for someone on the rebound."

"She is a mouse. You are retarded."

"Whoa," Marcus says, turning around in his seat. "Are you sayin' there's somethin' wrong with me and Danny being together?"

"You're not a fucking mouse."

"I'm a tiger."

"Only when you want..." She trails off. "I just got an extremely disturbing mental image. Tell me you two don't-"

Danny starts to fidget.

"YOU DO. FUCKING MARY ON A POPSICLE STICK. YOU DO."

"ONLY ONCE-"

"Twice," Marcus corrects.

"MARCUS."

"ARGH. MY VIRGIN BRAIN."

"NO. MORE. TALKING." Danny says. "Only radio. Listen to the soothing, calming, completely consensual, non-illegal, totally normal tunes on the radio."

"AND I," the radio croons, "WILL ALWAAAAAAAYS TOUCH BOOOOOOOOOOB."

Danny quickly shuts it off. "Okay. So silence?"

The lone and level highway stretches far away.

I have decided...

2010-02-14T18:50:00.007-05:00

That Kallie and Red work at a gay bar. Red is a bartender and Kallie is a waitress. But now I need a clever/awful gay bar name. Helmet Head? Curious George? The Wet Spot?

Edit: Strike that, reverse it. I was so in love with the idea of Red: The Flirty Bartender and Kallie: The Surly Waitress I didn't stop to figure out if it made any sense. Because, really, ordering from a bartender at a club/bar who can lipread would be way more awesome.

Also, I'm leaning toward The Wet Spot.

In exactly uno week, I will be in Florida.

2010-01-14T15:49:00.015-05:00

There are a lot of different genres out there. Alternate history, mockumentary, biopunk, wuxia, porn.

I realized a couple weeks ago that my book-in-progress was flirting with the horror genre. This is besides its superhero and LGBTQQIA-ness. So I decided to pick up Stephen King's Danse Macabre. It tells a thrilling tale "about horror fiction in print, radio, film and comics, and the genre's influence on United States popular culture." Granted, it was published in 1981, and it occurs to me now that I wasn't even a fetus in 1981. Only half of me existed, and only as an egg.

Like this, I imagine, but less disturbing.

Anyway, I'm not going to give you a review of the book because hello, boring. Plus, I'm not done with it yet. I just want to quote a little bit of it:

But I do want to say something about imagination purely as a tool in the art and science of scaring the crap out of people. The idea isn't original with me; I heard it expressed by William F. Nolan at the 1979 World Fantasy Convention. Nothing is so frightening as what's behind the closed door, Nolan said. You approach the door in the old, deserted house, and you hear something scratching at it. The audience holds its breath along with the protagonist as she/he (more often she) approaches that door. The protagonist throws it open, and there is a ten-foot-tall bug. The audience screams, but this particular scream has an oddly relieved sound to it. "A bug ten feet tall is pretty horrible," the audience thinks, "but I can deal with a ten-foot-tall bug. I was afraid it might be a hundred feet tall."

How's that for a quote? A quote within a quote. Also, I wish copy-and-paste existed in the real world.

But I think William F. Nolan's formidable balls are right on the money. There's a sort of magic surrounding a closed door. And when you open it, it disappears. But I think this "closed door concept" applies to all fiction. When I spin you a wondrous yarn, I need to show you characters, setting, conflict, etc., but more importantly, I need to conceal. I have to know what not to show you. What to leave to your imagination.

Like the rest of this post!

j/k j/k j/k

If I explain everything, I might as well be writing an encyclopedia. There's a subtleness to fiction. A book is like a secret. It doesn't work if I tell it to you through a loudspeaker. I have to whisper it in your ear. You might miss a word or two, but that's okay. You can fill them in yourself. With whatever rings true to you. Or whatever scares you.

Or with whatever turns you on. I don't judge.

Oh, jeez.

2010-01-05T19:00:00.010-05:00

Is it the fifth already?

As you can see, it's only Tuesday, and I'm already more than halfway to 1,000. So kudos to me, but it's actually kind of exhausting. I am at my computer A LOT. I should invest in a fluffier butt pillow.

Also, my knee hurts and Q tells me it's because I'm old. She's wrong. It's because I've been dream-kneeing her in the vag.

I can't decide if I want to eat these guys or bring them to life. And then eat them.

In my spare time, I've been reading Blogger, Beware. If you were ever into Goosebumps, even just a little bit, it's good for some zealous guffaws. Or, you know... whatever.

2010.

2009-12-31T16:40:00.015-05:00

Is it tempting fate too much to tentatively set 2010 as the year when I'll be finished? Probably.

I need to be averaging about 1,000 words a week. I'm not at the moment. But I think I can do it. So what is that? My New Year's resolution?

What's your New Year's resolution?

In other news, this remix by DJ Earworm blew my muffin' mind:

Download here.

Goodbye, 2009. I didn't like you very much. But I'll miss you all the same.

Happy New Year!

P.S. Megan Phelps-Roper of Westboro Baptist Church fame recorded her own parody of "Poker Face" by Lady GaGa. It's oddly catchy. "You diss God! You diss God! Yeah, you just got your whoooorish face!"

@LadyGaga "Poker Face" parody by WBC is done! Lyrics: http://tiny.cc/LGL2 Music: sound bite

Hermaphrodite City!

2009-12-27T00:02:00.033-05:00

By the way, all drabbles take place before the start of my book-in-progress. I was gonna call them "snapshots." But I didn't. This particular one takes place before Marcus becomes a Cap. 248 words.

Title: I'm Not Lyin', I'm Just Stunnin' With My Love-Glue-Gunnin'

Character(s): Marcus

---

Marcus turns the radio up. His favorite song is on.

"Can I be hermaphrodite pretty?" he sings. He looks in the mirror and shakes his butt. It's a good butt, so everyone tells him. "Am I an innie... O-OR AN OUTTIE?"

He's got a date in half-an-hour. He's had a date every day this week so far. Knock on wood.

Ripped bootcut jeans. Shirt one size too small. A dab of dollar store gel in his hair. Cologne slick like oil on the inside of his wrists and across his neck.

"Chasin' Hedwig's confusin' kitty! Suckin' cock erect'd by committee!"

Four dates, four different Johns. Although one was almost a threesome: A fat man sat at the foot of the bed, breathed slow and in control, and watched as Marcus fucked some woman with a jungle snake tattooed across her shoulders. The fat man's glasses were thick enough to be opaque, and the woman moaned beneath him. Her tattoo constricted with each thrust.

Marcus charged double for that one. He reckons he could've charged triple and gotten away with it.

He rubs his face now. It's sandpaper. He slides his thumb down the twin blades of his razor; it's clogged with old stubble, and he tosses it in the trash.

"Air out that botched vaginoplasty! GIM-GIM-GIMME HERMAPHRODITE CITY!"

Not a big deal. This John isn't interested in his face anyhow.

Marcus checks his reflection one last time and makes sure to lock the door on his way out.

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T19:04:00.026-05:00

A little drabble. 267 words.

Title: Every Day is Exactly the Same

Character(s): Red

---

"I'm worried about Kallie. I think she needs to get laid."

Sheep barks. Wags her tail furiously.

Red squints. "Calm down, killer. I'm pretty sure she's not into that." He pats his pockets. "What did you do with the torch?"

Sheep cocks her head. Barks again. Then licks her chops.

"You four-pawed Judas." The bowl in his hand is warm and made of glass, and he fingers its smooth mouth absentmindedly. "You ate it."

He thinks. Forgets what he was thinking about. Thinks about something else.

"The joke's on you, if you think about it." Swallows hard, spit like talcum power. "You're a dog. You ate poop when you were young, you know. And now you eat butane. But look at these swanky thumbs I've got. I can pick shit up. Your shit mostly, Shits McGee. But also other things." He scratches his head with the back of his hand. "Thumbs up, I can do that. TWO thumbs up. And two toes that used to be thumbs if you factor in evolution. You can count 'em if you–oh, wait a fucking minute. YOU CAN'T–"

Sheep leaps onto the couch. Plows into Red and slathers his face with her tongue.

"Gerroff me!" He shoves her to the floor, and she lands with a dull thud. His shirt comes away moist and sticky after his wipes his face clean.

Sheep sniffs her butt.

"If you lick your poophole, I will fucking throw up on you."

She licks.

Red rises from the couch. "DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU."

Sheep yelps, scrambles for the bedroom.

"RAAAWR!" he growls.

Dear loyal/sexy reader(s).

2009-12-23T18:52:00.009-05:00

My hatred of flight (Damn you, creatures of the air!) may have colored my last post. Possibly.

After we got through the whole security/plane/itchy blanket/making out part, Hawaii and California weren't so bad. In fact... You could say I enjoyed myself.

Or maybe I ate too many pennies and now I'm delirious.

I bought a lot of clothes in any case. Something about Hawaii compels you to spend money. Maybe it's all the heat Hawaiians pack. Didn't know that, did you? Can't walk five feet without being asked to hold/try out/stroke/fire some stranger's gun. Hmm. Something about that seems fishy to me now.

In other news, Nemo and Crush have been captured, killed, and conveniently packaged.

Happy Holidays!

P.S. Tiny relations apparently do not equate to tiny living spaces.

I hate flying.

2009-11-29T16:52:00.027-05:00

Tomorrow, me, my mom, and my dad are off to California and Hawaii. Sure, it sounds awesome, but it's a family thing; I will be surrounded by lots of Chinese folk who will insist on fattening me up. All the while inquiring about my relationship status. For two and a half weeks. My sister gets out of it because of her COLLEGE thing. Le sigh.

I dunno how much writing Imma gonna be able to get done during this furlough. I'm not taking my laptop with me because it is a BEAST OF HEAT AND DOOM.

Pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get it past security.

My dad said he'd let me borrow his netbook but still, we're not even getting a hotel room. Just stayin' with some tiny Chinese relations. In their tiny apartment. So we'll see how that works out writing-wise, but especially bathroom-wise.

Anyway. I probably won't have a stable internet connection either. So it'll be like the good ole days: Floppy disks and 8-track tapes.

P.S. I'm using Chrome now, instead of Safari, and I like it. I'm don't know if I'm ready to marry Chrome just yet, but it's streamlined, quick for the most part, and definitely big dicked.

A virus.

2009-11-26T22:42:00.009-05:00

My computer has been resurrected, but it basically got shot in the face a couple days ago. If you were wondering why the word count wasn't going up, that's why. I'm still missing a whole bunch of programs, but all my documents are okay. Even my porn.

We had to reinstall Windows. So I'm running with the basics here. I don't even have Word yet.

In other news... Happy Thanksgiving!

Word count.

2009-11-22T16:01:00.006-05:00

You'll notice I added a little word county thing. It's to the right, if you can't find it or are stupid.

The weekly word count will cover Sunday to Saturday. Then I'll reset it when Sunday rolls around again.

You'll also notice I wrote a groundbreakingly large amount of words today. I'm right on track!

IT'S OFFICIAL.

2009-11-20T15:54:00.005-05:00

This novel-in-progress is now the longest thing I have ever written.

Which, admittedly, isn't very long. But still. IT'S LONGER THAN MY THESIS, BITCHES.

WHY.

2009-11-17T13:13:00.014-05:00

Why did I give Marcus a southern accent? WHY DO I HATE MYSELF.

Any reference links and/or pointers and/or blowjobs would be appreciated. I've been scouring YouTube, and I'm thinking of picking up some William Faulkner. I CAN HAS HALP?

P.S. I may need to pick up some Lovecraft, too.

Poop.

2009-11-14T16:35:00.001-05:00

Not a good writing day today. Can't focus.

The wall. (Not the Pink Floyd kind.)

2009-11-09T17:36:00.009-05:00

It's hard when you hit that wall. I don't mean writer's block.

Let's say you've slaved over the first couple chapters of your novel. Mentally, at least. You know exactly what happens, exactly when it happens, and in what sequence. You write it down and it's fantastico. But then that fourth chapter looms, and you're not quite sure where your story is going.

You have scenes in mind, of course. Character P and Character V discussing birth control on a gondola at midnight. Character P's desperate race to discover who his father really is. (Hint: It's this dude.)

But what's the connective tissue? It's like thumbtacks on a corkboard. You need some red string to loop around each tack and link 'em all together. Or green, blue, purple string, whatever floats your boat. It's just a metaphor.

This is the time to step back. Review your characters. Analyze what should logically come next in the story. Fuck structure. Think about it from your characters' POV. What would you do in their place(s)? What comes next, organically? You could also do a little research. Are your characters breaking into a sperm bank? Look up some sperm banks. Are they drilling a tunnel to the center of the Earth to set off a series of nuclear explosions to restart the core's rotation? Well, if they're doing that, it sounds like you've got a summer blockbuster on your hands. I don't know what you're doing here. Go forth and rake in the five star reviews.

If you write something you are unhappy with, stop. Reassess. Is this really where you want Character A to be? Is this where Character A needs to be? Deep in space, on her space knees... praying to space Jesus? If you're writing Hannah Montana fanfiction, something has gone horribly wrong. Or horribly right, depending how you look at it.

Whatever.

2009-11-07T14:54:00.005-05:00

I'm taking today off. It's nice being your own boss. Plus, a new DVD came in the mail. Ah, Sam and Dean, how I have missed you and your shenanigans.

FYI

2009-11-06T15:59:00.004-05:00

In 1,644 words, this novel-in-progress will officially be the longest thing I have ever written.

Danny.

2009-11-05T21:22:00.008-05:00

Danny is the other narrator. He's of Indian descent and a runaway. He's very decisively middle-class, and if you asked him why he ran away, he'd have no answer for you. Only this: If he hadn't become a Cap when he did, he'd probably have offed himself.

I made a Sim of him once.

Oh. Sorry. What is it with me and links? Here.

Anyway. He's involved with Marcus. While Marcus has his future-lookings and an eye of the tiger, Danny can walk through walls and blend into his surroundings like an octopus, but not both at the same time. Letting him do that seemed like a Game Breaker. How are you supposed to take someone like that down? He could just walk into your house and watch you shower. And crap. Watch you shower and crap ALL DAY. Whatchoo gonna do about it, punk?

Besides, Marcus is enough of a Game Breaker. I don't want to overpower everyone. So I let Danny exercise his right to bear arms.

Because very few Caps have any sort of regenerative abilities, guns still carry the same weight they would in our world. If Kallie gets shot in the head, she's not gonna pull a Wolverine.

Danny knows this better than anyone. He tends to be very liberal with his oxycodone. And he loves his Papal Ale.

All in all, Danny would say he's happier now than before. Yeah, Danny and Marcus are part of a drug cartel. But everyone's got to make a living. Yeah, his boyfriend recites poetry, and lives as much in the future as in the past. But everyone's got their quirks. Then Marcus decides to search for the source of their powers. And Danny finds that change is more difficult than he ever expected.

How ominous.

Kallie.

2009-10-28T23:46:00.010-04:00

You may remember me mentioning that I took a couple American Sign Language (ASL) classes in high school. You may also remember that Eckerd College didn't count ASL as a foreign language and I had to take French. I'd knee Eckerd in the balls if, alas, it had any.

Pushing aside that deep resentment, one of my characters is deaf. The idea came to me in the shower, but you really shouldn't read anything into that. There were only two characters who could have been deaf, but after thinking about it for a moment, I realized I was wrong. There was only one character who could be deaf and, verily, she should have been deaf all along. It was Kallie.

I mentioned her in the first post. Her favorite color is yellow, but she also has a soft spot for army green. She feels a strong need to be independent but, for now, thinks that means being able to beat people up. She fought a Cap named John Doe about two years ago. She lost, and he cut off eight of her fingers.

Luckily for Kallie, she lives twenty minutes in the future. There's universal health care and some swanky new advances in prosthetics. Maybe something like this or this.

Oh, crap. I mean, like this or this.

Advanced now, but twenty minutes in the future? Bargain bin stuff. In the future, if you lose a limb and have enough money, you can replace it with Harry Potter's wang. Wand. I mean, wand. Fuck.

Not to say Kallie's new fingers are perfect. She can't feel detail, and I cannot tell you how many times she's dropped her toothbrush in the sink. Not to mention all the trouble she has signing. It's like talking with your lips numbed. Forever.

But she keeps at it. Kallie wants to help people. And if you have superpowers, why not be a superhero?

I plotted, bitches!

2009-10-26T23:19:00.005-04:00

Romance literature and LGBT literature are similiar. So similiar in fact, that I dislike them equally.

Romance just isn't enough of a plot. Person P meets Person V. They fall in love. Something stupid and completely avoidable happens. They break up. But no! They find each other because true love prevails. Ah, so happy. So satisfying. So... so nauseating.

Coming out isn't a plot either. Maybe it was but not anymore. Yeah, yeah, yeah, acceptance, blah, blah, everyone has the same insides, whatever, I don't care, Care Bear Stare!

I don't care what your plot is. Write a western. Write about werewolves on Jupiter. Write an alternate history mystery where Benjamin Franklin travels back to the days of Egypt and Rome to save Cleopatra, only to find her dead from a laser blast to the heart.

If there's romance, it takes a backseat to the plot. Coming out? BACKSEAT. Or better yet, if your story takes place 20 minutes in the future, maybe homosexuality isn't such a big deal at all. Instead of a LGBT character, have a character who just happens to be LGBT. Those werewolves from Jupiter. They're lesbians. Does that make them more awesome? Yes. Should their hot and hairy she wolf-on-she wolf scissoring be part of the plot? No. Maybe. Well, not unless you're writing erotic fiction.

Caps.

2009-10-25T14:06:00.006-04:00

Anyone with superpowers in my book is called a Cap. I didn't want to borrow any term already established, like Marvel's mutant or DC Comics' metahuman, because... Well, because.

Cap is short for capricious. Merriam-Webster defines that as "governed or charazterized by caprice: implusive, unpredictable." Which I thought was perfect since 1) No one knows what's causing it, and 2) The powers themselves are capricious.

When you take a peek at other superhero works, the two most general powers that almost everyone has are super strength and super resilience to injury. Spiderman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Wolverine, Martian Manhunter, Captain Hammer, Dr. Impossible, etc. The list is almost endless. Of course, there's nothing wrong with this, and it makes a lot of sense because this is the easiest way to get superheros super fightin'.

The third general power is exclusive to superheroines, and it's super large boobs.

In my book/universe/sandbox/whatever you want to call it, powers appear to be random. In the last post, I told you Marcus was an anthromorphic were-tiger but also had the completely unrelated power of future-lookings. I'm pretty sure that's the technical term for it.

There's also a woman who has the power to grow her hair really fast. And a man with dragonfly wings instead of arms. I assume those dragonfly wings have been scaled up in size.

So I call them Caps. Nice and short. Plus, it sounds vaguely reminiscent of word "Jap" which I thought gave it a slightly derogatory feeling.

Caps have to register. It's not some awful thing, but it classifies Caps into four groups. But before all that, there's the lowest classification, Green, which actually only applys to non-Caps. If you are a Cap, you can be a Blue, Yellow, Orange, or Red. If that sounds familiar, it's because I lifted it directly from the Terror Alert that Homeland Security set up. Green is low risk. Blue is general risk. Yellow is significant risk. Orange is high, and Red is severe.

That hair-growing woman would be a Blue. Marcus would be a Red. Lady GaGa would be a Orange, but only because she possesses the ability to shoot fire out of her breasts.

Let's say you were a Cap. And you were strong. So strong you could bench press Kevin Federline. With your nipple. You register, and you turn out to be a Yellow. Not bad, but you're gonna have to take muscle relaxants for the rest of your life. Not enough to take all your strength away, just enough to bring you back to the human realm. You wouldn't be the strongest person in the world anymore, just one of the strongest. As strong as a Green could be, without being superhuman. It's not an unreasonable policy.

It's a little different for Reds. If you had the power to turn brains into mashed bananas, and penises into hedgehogs, it'd be safe to say you would be unemployed. And locked up. Not a fair situation, but there's no anti-penisturnedhedgehog drug.

Lady GaGa would only have to wear a flame-retardant bra. That she could never take off.

So what if you just didn't register. Keep bench pressing K-Fed with your nipple. I'm sure he doesn't mind.

Well, I hope you like being labeled a terrorist. And you should probably put K-Fed down before the cops show up, arrest you, and send you on a nice one-way trip to Guantanamo Bay. Harsh, yes. But you're only a Yellow. You'll probably be able to get out of it. God forbid if you'd banana-fied K-Fed's brains.

But what is a Red to do? Most of them just live under the radar. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you must. But then again, not every Cap has the luxury of looking completely human.

Questions? Comments?

A little clarification.

2009-10-24T12:59:00.005-04:00

In my last post, I didn't mean to imply that doomsday scenarios were dumb. They're not dumb; they tap into some very real suspicions and worries people have about the world. Look at all the hype surrounding 2012. Hell, remember Y2K? For some reason, the end of the world is very real fear to people. And when a book or movie or YouTube video incorporates some kind of apocalyse, or threat of an apocalyse, into the fabric of the story, the stakes are instantly raised. The tension and drama dials get turned up. It's not an inherently cheap trick, and it can be done well.

However, I think exploring end of SOMEONE'S world is more powerful. And in this particular case, that's what I wanted to do. I wanted the focus to stay on the characters. I wanted realism. Or as much realism as you can get when one of your characters is an anthropomorphic were-tiger who can see the future.

I am walking a fine line here.

Also, I didn't want to imply that my characters' superpowers were superfluous. One of the driving points of the plot is Marcus's search for the cause of this superpower explosion.

Marcus is the aforementioned were-tiger.

If you find yourself wondering how the fuck that makes sense considering he knows the future, STOP IT.

I'm supposed to be writing right now.

2009-10-23T15:16:00.014-04:00

And I am! Technically. Sometimes I get stuck working on my novel. I guess it's called writer's block. But it's mostly just laziness on my part.

Usually I try skipping around the story. Last time I got stuck, I skipped a chapter ahead and wrote a little scene with Kallie and her brother. I should probably stop and explain what exactly I'm writing before I throw character names at you. MARCUS! HUGO! RED! Muahahahahaha!

... I got inspired by superhero movies. So yeah, it's a book about superheroes. But what I wanted to do differently was create a world that didn't require saving. You see it all the time: Doctor Octavius decides to build a sun-making machine in a loft in downtown New York, never mind that SUNS ARE FUCKING DANGEROUS. Someone tricks Professor X into stabbing everyone's brains with a sharp stick. Or like in Heroes, the world is chronically five minutes away from exploding. But in real life, the world seems to be fine. I mean, it's messed up, don't get me wrong. But it's not going to crack into bite-sized pieces anytime soon. Delicious bite-sized pieces.

So I wanted to really, honestly, give superpowers to real individuals. Not people who cackled and monologued and had monocles, but the average guy next door. Like Heroes's first season, I suppose, but still, without the need to save the cheerleader and save the world.

"How droll," I can hear you say through the smacking of your gums as you force more and more chicken into your gaping mouth. "What are they going to use their superpowers for if not to save the world?" A scrap of fried chicken skin clings moistly to your bottom lip.

Well, what would you use your powers for? Maybe some of you would try to fight crime, or commit crimes. But the vast majority of you would use your telekinetic powers to get beer outta the fridge. Don't lie to me.

That doesn't mean that there isn't any action in my novel. Within the first twenty pages, there are two separate action scenes. I just want to write something realistic. No one wears a costume. No one uses an alias. The human race is not under threat of extinction. Everything's fine. We've just got people acting like people. So, obviously, something awful is on its way. BUT NOT THE END OF THE WORLD.

Ha. Anyway. That's it for now. In conclusion, I apparently have an intense grudge against any sort of doomsday scenario.