Plain and simple. He says I suffer and growl too much over my writing so I'm to spend a week being happy and carefree. I don't know what those words mean...so instead I think I'll post more of "The Lyons' Den" just to see how it's coming across.
Still in chapter one, here, as Daniel makes his way to destiny.
We finally hit this flat stretch of land and traffic got light and speed got slowed down once we were off the 17, with the road doing slow curves and straightaways and next to no cars coming in either direction as the snow kept snowing. Then we passed over a hilltop and into a woody valley, and there was sweet, charming, delightfully nestled Bradleyville...and lemme tell you, we got there hours after they rolled up the sidewalks. Seriously, this is the kind of place the chamber of commerce calls quaint while kids that live there refer to it as “the hell I wanna get the hell away from.” And while it looked like a picture postcard place in the winter white stuff, for some reason all I could think of that town in “It’s A Wonderful Life” -- all dark, snow-drifty and smothering in its Saccharine sweetness. I actually started looking around for a guy in a wheelchair named Potter...the guy being of that name, not the chair.
Somehow Dan-O...naw, better call him Daniel, from now on, and you’ll understand why as we go along...anyway, Daniel found the late-night diner he’d been referred to just off the main drag and walked in to enjoy the blast of warm air and think seriously about a slice of pie and some hot tea or coffee as he waited for the caretaker to come over for him, but before he could even get his gloves off this screech of a voice hollered, “You the fool friend of Mr. Bentley’s, come up here?”
He jumped around to see this five-foot tall gnome dressed in a massive green parka, thick gloves and a muffler atop two of the spindliest legs ever shoved into black ski-pants that ever was, that then vanished into a pair of the biggest snow boots ever seen (perportional...un, proportiony...uh, generally speaking). Seriously, it looked like an olive about to go into a martini, because all you could see of the person inside were two beady eyes that were easily a hundred years old.
My guy nodded and asked, “Are you Mr. Serff?”
“Do I look like Mr. Serff?” the voice snapped. Well, yes, in that get-up, but...”He’s in Boston. I’m the Missus.”
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Bettancourt.”
I couldn’t resist adding, “Lord and master of the great and glorious Ace Shostakovich!” To which Daniel rolled his eyes, not in the snotty way Tad does but like he just plain can’t believe I said that.
The old bat glared at him, obviously noticing the rolling of said eyes and thinking he meant her. “And who else might ya be?” she snapped. “Up here, this time of year at this time of night? Summer place in the dead of winter? All the best skiin’s to the North. C’mon, let’s get this done with.” And she headed out the door, muttering, “Little fool.”
Daniel blinked and followed her. “So...I take it Tad got hold of you and explained -- ?”
“Tad?” she snapped. “That what he goes by, now? I knew him when he was just ‘Master’ Theodore James Bentley, the third, an’ made me use every fool bit of that fool name.” Wow...looked like he’d always been a dick. “An’ yes, he did call. Right ‘round an hour ago. Asked...no, ‘told’ me to get the place ready for ya. Got pretty high-handed with it, too, like I’s his employee. Like I can’t remember when his poppa was treatin’ me all right and proper. Like I’m a fool. I’d of told him where he could go, but ya were already comin’ an’ t’ain’t my way to let people die from exposure. Not ‘round my parcel of the woods, anyhow. T’ain’t polite.”
And I swear, she really DID say “t’ain’t” -- twice!
We headed straight back out to the snow and she eyed Daniel’s rental and snorted. “Best park that here. Won’t make it where we’re goin’.”
“It’s got four-wheel -- ,” Daniel said.
“I got mine. Toss your things in the back.” Then she climbed into this four-by-four with a snowplow as its front bumper, and the damn thing would’ve looked perfect as the car-crusher at a monster truck rally. Seriously, it even had fold-out steps going up to the sideboards of it so she could reach the cab.
“Will the car be okay here?” Daniel asked, eyeing the truck with what did NOT amount to certainty.
““Prob’ly,” said the old bat as she settled in behind the wheel. “No charge at a meter over the weekend. Now let’s get goin’!” Daniel got his satchel, laptop and a bag of groceries he’d bought at a deli by the car rental office and climbed aboard. And away we went, spitting snow the whole way down the drag. And I have to say, if I’d thought my guy was getting into something bad before, I was damn sure of it, now.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
50,190
Very much to my surprise...but not to my characters'. What put it over the top was making the explanation of what's going on and the epilogue make sense...which probably means I over-explained everything. But since this IS officially a first draft, I can do that.
What's interesting is how doing this book has sharpened my awareness of what the scripts were about. I think I was being coy in them and, should anything happen with this, I can now make them ten times better. Makes me look at my other works in a different way, too. Who knows what the characters will bring to stories like "Darian's Point" and "Mine to Kill" and "Dair's Window"?
In fact...I can already see how I can make the relationship between Thomas and Marion work better, simply by being able to show it and delve into it, especially during their courtship and marriage and such. I refer to it in the script but now I'm thinking it's a much better idea to do it as a book.
As for publishing...I can do that myself online with Amazon...and even Barnes & Noble, I think. I'll dig into that after the first of the year.
So...Daniel's happy with me, as are Van and Ace. And Brendan's sitting on the sidelines wondering how long I want to break for before we get back to POS. I'm not doing anything else until I have a first draft of his story done, period. I don't need to worry about perfection in it, not just yet; I need to get the plot down and figure out what information I need from that.
Now excuse me while I go find some way of unfrying my brain.
What's interesting is how doing this book has sharpened my awareness of what the scripts were about. I think I was being coy in them and, should anything happen with this, I can now make them ten times better. Makes me look at my other works in a different way, too. Who knows what the characters will bring to stories like "Darian's Point" and "Mine to Kill" and "Dair's Window"?
In fact...I can already see how I can make the relationship between Thomas and Marion work better, simply by being able to show it and delve into it, especially during their courtship and marriage and such. I refer to it in the script but now I'm thinking it's a much better idea to do it as a book.
As for publishing...I can do that myself online with Amazon...and even Barnes & Noble, I think. I'll dig into that after the first of the year.
So...Daniel's happy with me, as are Van and Ace. And Brendan's sitting on the sidelines wondering how long I want to break for before we get back to POS. I'm not doing anything else until I have a first draft of his story done, period. I don't need to worry about perfection in it, not just yet; I need to get the plot down and figure out what information I need from that.
Now excuse me while I go find some way of unfrying my brain.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I'm Santa's Doppelganger
If you go by the photos accompanying an interview I gave in NYC last weekend. Want to get an idea of just how crazy I am? Check it out.
http://www.diningwithstrangers.com/?page_id=920
LD is just over 46000 words. I'm still pushing but I'm being led places I never thought we'd go to and while these journeys are deepening the book and characters, they're also taking time. Two days left to hit 50K. Sigh. And yet...I honestly would not have it any other way...because I think I'm in love with both Daniel and Van.
Told you I'm crazy.
http://www.diningwithstrangers.com/?page_id=920
LD is just over 46000 words. I'm still pushing but I'm being led places I never thought we'd go to and while these journeys are deepening the book and characters, they're also taking time. Two days left to hit 50K. Sigh. And yet...I honestly would not have it any other way...because I think I'm in love with both Daniel and Van.
Told you I'm crazy.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
ZIP-idey-doo-dah
We are not in the mood to contemplate our navels, we offer in explanation (via the Royal "we") because intense-ness begets brain-dead-ness, and Ace has begun to sound like Elliot Ness so enough of this mess. So we present, instead, a gentle reworking of what has already been presented...the first (now 6) pages of "The Lyons' Den"...aimed at better preparing one and all for the chaos of the rest of the friggin' story.
So without further ado, we hereby present...
Daniel Bettancourt, who's now spending a third of the story in his briefs instead of just a bath towel and shirt; he felt doing so much of the action that close to naked was too distracting and embarrassing and unimaginative (for the book; it'll be fine in the play or movie versions since that's what sell the seats), so we compromised.
And with him is Ace...who is also Tad...which will be explained and set-up and all that in these first few pages. And I hope it all makes sense in the end. but I quite honestly do not know. I only know that as of now I'm thinking the book will top out at 45-46,000 words, a bit short of the NaNoWriMo goal. We shall see.
And these two are all that matter, right now.
Meaning it is time for the meat of this masterpiece to be met --
THE LYONS' DEN
To keep it simple, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yay or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re solid characters, Tad; they’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“Shit, you got any idea how crazy that makes you sound? ‘My characters’ll work everything out.’ Jesus.”
“You know what I mean -- .”
“Do I? Does anybody? Really?”
Daniel got really quiet and calm and said, “You’ve seen it work.”
“I’ve seen you pull shit that would’ve put you in a padded room, fifty years ago.”
“I have six books to back it up.”
Tad sighed and nodded. “Okay, whatever, but they haven’t done crap for me. Besides, all we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got those six books out there, all nice and neat and selling while I got my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“Tad, listen to me -- I could fix it for you. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Would you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (certain of us must use his addendum, as well; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly sexy scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of New Jersey back country managed to keep his lazy little self in muscled-enough shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a sorta-kinda guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose current lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his not-all-that dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outed actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise...including his), this according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for nearly a year and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together. Why anyone would want to fuck around with anyone who doesn’t want to fuck around with them unless he can really and truly fuck around with them (in every meaning of the term) is one of life’s great mysteries. But that was Daniel’s mind-set, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and he was gonna go bankrupt and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it most definitely did help that the series of scripts were based on Daniel’s third and fourth books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is also, most definitely, a published author under the name Daniel C. Bettancourt. Yes, his real name, which he saw no reason not to own since it had been his since he was born (except for the “C”; he’d added that in since his mother hadn’t seen fit to give him a middle name). All of which made him the proud penman of six mystery novels. All of which featured me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
So without further ado, we hereby present...
And these two are all that matter, right now.
Meaning it is time for the meat of this masterpiece to be met --
THE LYONS' DEN
To keep it simple, Daniel’s life began to unravel when he made that bet. Granted, he popped up with the wager out of desperation while trying to talk Tad -- excuse me, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (one must have one’s moniker correct, you know) -- into giving their relationship a second chance. Of course, his timing was off, as usual. Tad’s focus was on how messed up his current project for a series was (thanks to an overpriced twenty-one-year-old-Cheeto-eater said to be the hottest screenwriter in Hollywood since Orson Welles) and he had to meet with the “yay or nay” guy at HBO on Monday, so he wasn’t listening to a single solitary thing that was being said until Daniel snapped, “Okay, fine, fine, fine, Tad, I’ll get them into shape in time for the damned meeting; now can you just -- ?”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, Danny?” Tad shot back. “You don’t get it -- ALL the scripts are crap, all fuckin’ eight of them, including the Bible.” (“The Bible” not being that book of Christian conflict but one that outlined the direction the characters and story would take; helps to know the lingo of the natives, in this case.) “Besides, you write books, not screenplays.”
“A story’s a story.”
“Oh, please! A script isn’t a story; it’s a framework.”
“Which is probably why they aren’t working, not if you’ve got that kind of attitude about it.”
“It’s the attitude of the business, Danny. And I gotta work in it if I want to produce enough to pay my rent and car.”
“Well, it’s stupid. They’re solid characters, Tad; they’ll work things out, if you let them.”
“Shit, you got any idea how crazy that makes you sound? ‘My characters’ll work everything out.’ Jesus.”
“You know what I mean -- .”
“Do I? Does anybody? Really?”
Daniel got really quiet and calm and said, “You’ve seen it work.”
“I’ve seen you pull shit that would’ve put you in a padded room, fifty years ago.”
“I have six books to back it up.”
Tad sighed and nodded. “Okay, whatever, but they haven’t done crap for me. Besides, all we’re talking about is a movie adaptation; you still got those six books out there, all nice and neat and selling while I got my ass on the line, putting money into it I don’t have and -- and hiring that twerp -- .”
“Tad, listen to me -- I could fix it for you. I could fix ‘em all.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny, the meeting’s Monday. At noon. You can’t do this in a weekend; that’s not enough time.”
Daniel glared at Tad, irritated he was shrugging off such a fantastic offer. “What if I did do it?” he said. “Had ‘em ready in time? What if I did? Would you spend a week in -- in -- in Bermuda with me? Just a week? See if we can work things out?”
Tad just rolled his eyes in that way that always pissed Daniel off. Not because it was so condescending or dismissive, but because he looked so damned good when he did it, the little shit.
Now at this point, one might wonder why Daniel even wanted to get back together with someone as self-absorbed as Tad -- oops, Theodore J. Bentley, the Third (certain of us must use his addendum, as well; he’d snarl in disgust without the full and flowing exclamation of his name and -- and...oh, the hell with it -- let him snarl). It’d always been too much of a one-sided relationship, with Daniel bending over backwards to suit Tad’s every wish...and even those wishes Daniel stupidly THOUGHT Tad had.
Well, the reason is really simple -- the man was fuckin’ gorgeous. And knew it. Period. End of thought about the whole process. If you bring to mind the epitome of every gay man’s dream, no matter what his type -- that was Tad. Built like a Greek god, golden to the max, a face so classic in its line with eyes so blue and cool and elegant...sometimes it hurt to just look at him. To picture Tad walking along the beach in his signature red square-cut Speedo (never a thong, never a plain Speedo, and no way in hell would he be caught dead in board shorts; those were for fat Russians, Australians and boogie-boarder-boiz), well, to see him was to see a prowling panther proudly policing his lair with the casual assurance that he could handle anything -- be it male, female or Flipper. How he and Daniel ever wound up as a couple was the source of endless speculation by one and all who knew them, mainly because Daniel was SO his polar opposite.
Not ugly, no; he just had...well...nice, decent looks. Lean face. Crazy thick brown hair with eyebrows to match, hovering over dark sloe eyes. Smooth olive-toned skin (except for this sorta-kinda 5 o’clock shadow dancing about his jaw and a surprisingly sexy scar along his left cheekbone). Put it all together with his hawkish nose (obviously he took after the French-Portuguese side of the family) and the fact that he was trim (not skinny or even undeveloped; running, hiking and doing the bike trails of New Jersey back country managed to keep his lazy little self in muscled-enough shape), he was pleasantly attractive in your basic Joe Average kind of way.
So why the hell a I’m-all-that guy like Tad would let a sorta-kinda guy like Daniel play high priest to his shining light for nearly two years was beyond explanation for most people. Unless it was the sex. Which more than one wagging tongue insisted must be true because they’d heard from someone whose current lover had slept with another guy who’d heard from a friend of his that Tad was a lousy lay (once you got beyond the oral worship part of his not-all-that dick) while Daniel had tricks up his sleeve that would turn the straightest guy to the pink side (and had proven it with one recently outed actor who had to un-out himself by getting married and having twins that actually looked like him, to everyone’s surprise...including his), this according to a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend.
But now they’d been broken up for nearly a year and Daniel was willing to do anything to get back together. Why anyone would want to fuck around with anyone who doesn’t want to fuck around with them unless he can really and truly fuck around with them (in every meaning of the term) is one of life’s great mysteries. But that was Daniel’s mind-set, so when Tad dropped by that night to whine about how screwed he was thanks to these adaptations and his backers were pissed off at him and he was gonna go bankrupt and on and on and on, Daniel’d jumped in feet-first, as usual, with his proposal.
Now it should be noted that it most definitely did help that the series of scripts were based on Daniel’s third and fourth books -- oh, oh, right -- by the way, Daniel is also, most definitely, a published author under the name Daniel C. Bettancourt. Yes, his real name, which he saw no reason not to own since it had been his since he was born (except for the “C”; he’d added that in since his mother hadn’t seen fit to give him a middle name). All of which made him the proud penman of six mystery novels. All of which featured me, Ace Shostakovich, private eye extraordinaire.
Meaning, yes -- I’m not real. But if you think it’s weird a fictional character is telling this story, you ain’t seen what happened, yet.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The more you learn
Up over 42,500 words and have 30 pages left of the rewrite to do, so I may fall just short. But I know spaces where I can add more in, for now, so we'll see how it goes. The story is still pretty chaotic, which is how it's supposed to be; I may ask for feedback after my next draft. Not after THIS one, for sure; I think I have some inconsistencies that need to be addressed.
Short day at work helped. Next week will be low key, I think, so I may get more writing done, then. I'll just bring my laptop and work off that.
First snowfall in buffalo, today. Light flurries that wound up leaving about half an inch on my car that then danced about as I drove home. Currently it's laying lightly on streets, yards and rooftops, and more is expected, tomorrow. I may spend another day inside just working at LD and glad I'm not traveling in it. I'll probably have to when I head for San Antonio for Christmas, so no rush.
It now appears that my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned my mother and youngest brother. I'm past the point of being angry and and just brutally disappointed in them. I've done more for my mother from 1600 miles away -- including getting her a bedpan via Amazon.com!! so she doesn't have to rush to get to the bathroom -- than either of them has done living 10 and 30 miles away, respectively. I'm not interested in dealing with them, now.
Amazing what you learn about people as you grow older.
And myself. I'm finding I can still have jokey fun in my stories. And my ability to crush on someone is undiminished. There's even an erotic actor named Conner Habib whose blog I've begun to follow because he's just as smart as he is cute. Trust me to find an intellectual porn star.
Short day at work helped. Next week will be low key, I think, so I may get more writing done, then. I'll just bring my laptop and work off that.
First snowfall in buffalo, today. Light flurries that wound up leaving about half an inch on my car that then danced about as I drove home. Currently it's laying lightly on streets, yards and rooftops, and more is expected, tomorrow. I may spend another day inside just working at LD and glad I'm not traveling in it. I'll probably have to when I head for San Antonio for Christmas, so no rush.
It now appears that my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned my mother and youngest brother. I'm past the point of being angry and and just brutally disappointed in them. I've done more for my mother from 1600 miles away -- including getting her a bedpan via Amazon.com!! so she doesn't have to rush to get to the bathroom -- than either of them has done living 10 and 30 miles away, respectively. I'm not interested in dealing with them, now.
Amazing what you learn about people as you grow older.
And myself. I'm finding I can still have jokey fun in my stories. And my ability to crush on someone is undiminished. There's even an erotic actor named Conner Habib whose blog I've begun to follow because he's just as smart as he is cute. Trust me to find an intellectual porn star.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I like Thanksgiving...
For one reason and one reason only -- It's a day off where I don't have to deal with anyone. Last year I was living at home with my mother so had to deal with it, then, but prior to that I'd usually tell people who invited me over for dinner that I already had plans and I'd spend the day to myself.
Like today. I didn't leave my apartment. Just worked on LD and got it up to 40,500 words. And I feel productive. I even had a nice little argument between Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Dream-Tad in a shower stall. THAT was a hoot and a horror, and God only knows if anyone will be able to follow it.
BTW, I worked my crush on Zachary Quinto as the new Spock into the story, all without saying his name. Ah, the joys of being a sneak.
Of course, I don't know if anyone'll be able to follow the story at all, what with Ace being the one telling it while Daniel is thinking it and experiencing it as Carmen and Dream-Tad mess with him and he begins to wonder if Van even really, truly exists or if he's involved with True-Tad in trying to mess up the bet. Maybe this is my Dali-style of story -- all surreality mixed with reality and pseudo-reality to mess with reality.
I don't know. It's just proving to be fun. I just hope the ending I have now will be the ending I have when I'm done.
Now let's end this day on a note of beautificence.
I THINK this is China. It wasn't identified on the blog I downloaded it from. But does it look otherworldly, or what?
Like today. I didn't leave my apartment. Just worked on LD and got it up to 40,500 words. And I feel productive. I even had a nice little argument between Daniel, Ace, Carmen and Dream-Tad in a shower stall. THAT was a hoot and a horror, and God only knows if anyone will be able to follow it.
Of course, I don't know if anyone'll be able to follow the story at all, what with Ace being the one telling it while Daniel is thinking it and experiencing it as Carmen and Dream-Tad mess with him and he begins to wonder if Van even really, truly exists or if he's involved with True-Tad in trying to mess up the bet. Maybe this is my Dali-style of story -- all surreality mixed with reality and pseudo-reality to mess with reality.
I don't know. It's just proving to be fun. I just hope the ending I have now will be the ending I have when I'm done.
I THINK this is China. It wasn't identified on the blog I downloaded it from. But does it look otherworldly, or what?
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Best laid plans...
Always get trampled by my characters. I started to add my own little drama to the drama of Daniel's life, and got smacked down in a way that was not pretty. BUT...did lead to something better. And I'm now up over 36K in words.
What happened, you might ask? Well, Daniel got himself a sister...but no brothers. I tried to add them on but he refused to give me the space to do it. And Ace went along with him. So instead up popped this rift with sister, who now won't talk to him because he's gay and she's got kids, and he's in control of his mother's finances because husband #5 didn't trust her to handle them, herself. And now Daniel's meeting up with Ace is a way of saving his sanity...by appearing to be slightly insane...so no one will think he's really insane, since he isn't even though some people think he is. It makes sense in the context of the story.
I hope.
Right now I'm reworking Daniel's and Van's first meeting, where Daniel's completely nude and trying to call the cops when Van walks in and thinks the exact wrong thing. Which leads to things getting off on the wrong foot, completely.
It's funny, but I can picture the models I'm using for Daniel, Van and Tad doing and saying things as I write them. I don't know if this makes it any easier...but it is more fun.
Now back to the writing. I want 37,500 words before I finish, tonight.
What happened, you might ask? Well, Daniel got himself a sister...but no brothers. I tried to add them on but he refused to give me the space to do it. And Ace went along with him. So instead up popped this rift with sister, who now won't talk to him because he's gay and she's got kids, and he's in control of his mother's finances because husband #5 didn't trust her to handle them, herself. And now Daniel's meeting up with Ace is a way of saving his sanity...by appearing to be slightly insane...so no one will think he's really insane, since he isn't even though some people think he is. It makes sense in the context of the story.
I hope.
Right now I'm reworking Daniel's and Van's first meeting, where Daniel's completely nude and trying to call the cops when Van walks in and thinks the exact wrong thing. Which leads to things getting off on the wrong foot, completely.
It's funny, but I can picture the models I'm using for Daniel, Van and Tad doing and saying things as I write them. I don't know if this makes it any easier...but it is more fun.
Now back to the writing. I want 37,500 words before I finish, tonight.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Care Package
I'm sending mom and my youngest brother some food, since my other brother and sister think it's too much trouble to take them grocery shopping. I'll bet my box of dry goods, cookies and candy, magazine and a letter get there faster than anyone else doing their fucking duty.
I must say, I'm shifting more into disappointment, now. I took this job only because Brother and sister said they'd take care of mom so youngest brother wouldn't have to. Now I'm wondering if I'll have to either quit and go back to care for her or move her up here, with me. I'm heading down for Christmas...and I got a feeling it's not going to be a nice one.
Again, no work done on LD. Seems even if I DID have the feeling I could write it into 50,000 words this will keep me out of the running. Maybe. I'll work all day Thanksgiving and this coming weekend...so we'll see. If I get a roll going, I can easily do 4-5000 words in a day, and all I really have left is just over 15000. We'll see what happens.
I may be heading down to NYC the 9th of December and staying till the 13th. Depends on if this packing job comes through. New York in winter. This should be interesting.
So now it's time for Daniel to begin kicking me in the butt, wondering why the hell I'm letting myself get distracted by such nonsense. It's not like there's anything I can do about it...and if I don't watch out, he'll add that crap to his story and REALLY piss the rest of the family off.
Screw it, I think I will.
Which means Van will be more conflicted as the story goes along and he learns about Daniel's past...and which will definitely shift the whole dynamic. (I'm using Cary Grant's character in "Charade" as his guide, since he's a constantly shifting character.)
And that makes Ace -- AKA: Tad -- even more important. I'm having fun with him being modeled after the one guy Daniel's obsessing over...at least, he's obsessing at the beginning of the story. As the chaos (and Daniel's psychosis) grows, we'll see how this plays out.
The book is shifting a fair bit from the script and play...and may inform on them as well as them on it. So...I'm back to wondering what I'll wind up with.
What fun.
I must say, I'm shifting more into disappointment, now. I took this job only because Brother and sister said they'd take care of mom so youngest brother wouldn't have to. Now I'm wondering if I'll have to either quit and go back to care for her or move her up here, with me. I'm heading down for Christmas...and I got a feeling it's not going to be a nice one.
Again, no work done on LD. Seems even if I DID have the feeling I could write it into 50,000 words this will keep me out of the running. Maybe. I'll work all day Thanksgiving and this coming weekend...so we'll see. If I get a roll going, I can easily do 4-5000 words in a day, and all I really have left is just over 15000. We'll see what happens.
I may be heading down to NYC the 9th of December and staying till the 13th. Depends on if this packing job comes through. New York in winter. This should be interesting.
Screw it, I think I will.
The book is shifting a fair bit from the script and play...and may inform on them as well as them on it. So...I'm back to wondering what I'll wind up with.
What fun.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Family sucks
Just spent over an hour on the phone learning about how my younger brother and sister have all but abandoned our mother because each is in his and her own little snit over something. My youngest brother is taking care of her since she got out of the rehab facility, and he can't drive. Fortunately, her doctor is at a clinic that's just two blocks away so when she had an appointment today, he was able to take her there in a wheelchair, but he has to catch a bus to go get groceries because neither of our other siblings can be bothered to come help them do. I'm so fucking pissed, right now, if I talked to either one of those little shits, I'd make things even worse...because we wouldn't be talking for long -- we'd be screaming.
So...no writing done. Instead, I'm posting pictures to try and lessen my anger and try to settle down so I can get some sleep.
Here is the Delaware Water Gap. I took this en route to NYC and my pitiful little photo does NOT do it justice. Just magnificent.
When I got to New York, I was staying in a hotel by The Meadowlands...and I got SO lost trying to do the proper looping arounds to get to it, once I got off the NJ Turnpike, I wound up back on the Turnpike and couldn't get off. I had to do an illegal U-turn at a service road to get back. I finally just got off the freeway and worked my way over to the hotel via surface streets...which was a major chore.
This is a river in the Catskills. I was en route home from NYC when I saw it. Dunno what the name of the river is, but it was lovely and the water was so clear you could see the rocks on the bottom.
Driving home, I swung through Syracuse to do some research for a story. Yes, another script nudging at me to make it into a book...and this one makes sense because no one really got it as a screenplay. We'll see how it goes.
So...no writing done. Instead, I'm posting pictures to try and lessen my anger and try to settle down so I can get some sleep.
When I got to New York, I was staying in a hotel by The Meadowlands...and I got SO lost trying to do the proper looping arounds to get to it, once I got off the NJ Turnpike, I wound up back on the Turnpike and couldn't get off. I had to do an illegal U-turn at a service road to get back. I finally just got off the freeway and worked my way over to the hotel via surface streets...which was a major chore.
This is a river in the Catskills. I was en route home from NYC when I saw it. Dunno what the name of the river is, but it was lovely and the water was so clear you could see the rocks on the bottom.
Driving home, I swung through Syracuse to do some research for a story. Yes, another script nudging at me to make it into a book...and this one makes sense because no one really got it as a screenplay. We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Roundabout return
I took that different route home and am glad I did. It's a lovely drive, for the most part -- lots of twists and turns past shallow rivers of quick rapids between short mountains topped by leafless trees along a divided highway that cuts through the granite of some of those hills, revealing some elegant, jagged formations at 45 degree angles, where occasional flat streams of water whisper out from them and cascade down to the dirt -- and it gave me some ideas for Daniel's character.
Like when I got off the 87 to head for the 17 North -- it looks like you're must missing having to pay a toll...but no; it's $1.25 to get off the road. All vehicles. No exceptions. And Daniel huffed at it, so I put in how he hates to pay tolls, especially since he's driving a rented vehicle.
I also found a better explanation for Daniel to go to this cabin instead of just stay in NYC, himself; and ways to make Mrs. Serff (the caretaker's wife) into more of a character. I'm at the point in the story, right now, where another character comes in and starts messing with Daniel. And soon chaos begins.
This was a tiring weekend -- it's 400 miles each way to NYC -- but it's done. I only got a bit of writing accomplished -- more rewriting was handled, actually -- but the ideas that I've had are working neatly. And since I don't work Thanksgiving Day, I'll use that time to catch up on my word count.
Now I'm beat. Time for bed.
Like when I got off the 87 to head for the 17 North -- it looks like you're must missing having to pay a toll...but no; it's $1.25 to get off the road. All vehicles. No exceptions. And Daniel huffed at it, so I put in how he hates to pay tolls, especially since he's driving a rented vehicle.
I also found a better explanation for Daniel to go to this cabin instead of just stay in NYC, himself; and ways to make Mrs. Serff (the caretaker's wife) into more of a character. I'm at the point in the story, right now, where another character comes in and starts messing with Daniel. And soon chaos begins.
This was a tiring weekend -- it's 400 miles each way to NYC -- but it's done. I only got a bit of writing accomplished -- more rewriting was handled, actually -- but the ideas that I've had are working neatly. And since I don't work Thanksgiving Day, I'll use that time to catch up on my word count.
Now I'm beat. Time for bed.
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