ALL WRITING AND NO KIDS MAKE LEE... ACTUALLY, I'M NOT SURE WHAT IT MAKES HIM
For the first time in a long time, all 5 Triffbatts are away at their relatives for the weekend, which has given Luscious and I a chance to do a few things we've been keeping for such an occasion: sleep in, eat breakfast in bed, share a bath, and write. Oh, how we've written.
Luscious, who is still busily banging away on the keyboard as I write this, has turned out 2938 words (she tells me) on a new story she's calling Pauline & The Alien, as well as having line-edited a story she's sending to the upcoming Gastronomicon II called Diane, and a third story entitled Clay.
I've managed a whole lot of business stuff that needed doing (Tedious, but necessary. I shan't bore you with the details) but I've also managed to write an entirely new story myself. After all that banging on about bits I haven't finished, I did my usual thing and created something new, a 1500 word horror short called Searching For Little Deaths.
Now here's my problem: it's awful. Not in a I've written a piece of crud way, but in a I described it to my wife and she got tears in the corners of her eyes and almost asked me not to write it, which she's never done before way. This story is hate mail territory. Lyn and I actually discussed whether I wanted to send it out, and whether I was prepared for the backlash.
There isn't a woman in the world who isn't going to hate me when they read it.
Which has me in a bind. Because it's a horror story, no doubt about that. I made another person frightened just by describing what the story was about. She's told me that she doesn't want to read the finished product, not to ask her to read it. As horror stories go, that's not a bad way to start. BUT: Everything this story is, I'm not. It's violent towards women, it's violent sexually, it equates mental and emotional processes that should never be put together. It's terrible stuff, black-soul stuff, and if I expressed these thoughts in conversation you'd hate me. But it's just a work of fiction. I'm not engaging in any catharsis, I'm not revealing myself in any way. I just wanted to write as nasty a story as I could. I am most definitely not this story.
Yet I've had enough experience to know that many readers can't make that distinction. For the first time in my career, I'm considering leaving in something in my drawer because I'm afraid of the reaction it will garner.
It's a weird feeling.
GOALS HAVE BEEN SET
Right, just so's you all know, Luscious and I are both annoyed at our lack of productivity this year, and have set ouselves the goal of one finished and enveloped story per month for the rest of the year. Five stories each by January the 1st.
As you were.
GRATUITOUS FAMBLEE SHOTS
Just coz I said I would, a bit of a gallery:
For the first time in a long time, all 5 Triffbatts are away at their relatives for the weekend, which has given Luscious and I a chance to do a few things we've been keeping for such an occasion: sleep in, eat breakfast in bed, share a bath, and write. Oh, how we've written.
Luscious, who is still busily banging away on the keyboard as I write this, has turned out 2938 words (she tells me) on a new story she's calling Pauline & The Alien, as well as having line-edited a story she's sending to the upcoming Gastronomicon II called Diane, and a third story entitled Clay.
I've managed a whole lot of business stuff that needed doing (Tedious, but necessary. I shan't bore you with the details) but I've also managed to write an entirely new story myself. After all that banging on about bits I haven't finished, I did my usual thing and created something new, a 1500 word horror short called Searching For Little Deaths.
Now here's my problem: it's awful. Not in a I've written a piece of crud way, but in a I described it to my wife and she got tears in the corners of her eyes and almost asked me not to write it, which she's never done before way. This story is hate mail territory. Lyn and I actually discussed whether I wanted to send it out, and whether I was prepared for the backlash.
There isn't a woman in the world who isn't going to hate me when they read it.
Which has me in a bind. Because it's a horror story, no doubt about that. I made another person frightened just by describing what the story was about. She's told me that she doesn't want to read the finished product, not to ask her to read it. As horror stories go, that's not a bad way to start. BUT: Everything this story is, I'm not. It's violent towards women, it's violent sexually, it equates mental and emotional processes that should never be put together. It's terrible stuff, black-soul stuff, and if I expressed these thoughts in conversation you'd hate me. But it's just a work of fiction. I'm not engaging in any catharsis, I'm not revealing myself in any way. I just wanted to write as nasty a story as I could. I am most definitely not this story.
Yet I've had enough experience to know that many readers can't make that distinction. For the first time in my career, I'm considering leaving in something in my drawer because I'm afraid of the reaction it will garner.
It's a weird feeling.
GOALS HAVE BEEN SET
Right, just so's you all know, Luscious and I are both annoyed at our lack of productivity this year, and have set ouselves the goal of one finished and enveloped story per month for the rest of the year. Five stories each by January the 1st.
As you were.
GRATUITOUS FAMBLEE SHOTS
Just coz I said I would, a bit of a gallery:
Nananananananana Cat Girl!
What it's almost all about. Most of my family, happy.
Okay, just show me where it hurts... Hey! Wake Up!
Looooooong hair
Just happy to be here :)
Went to the zoo, pretended to be crocodiles...
Song of the moment: Take a Long Line The Angels
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