wolfing out

Back into it again, writing this werewolf thing, which i haven’t touched since last Thursday and which i’d like to have done by this Thursday. Got 9,000 words in there today and it’s only 630, but Boardwalk Empire is on tonight, which is an awesome new show, and then I think Bored to Death is back and probably something else, so i’ll have at least two hours lost. Anycase, that puts me at 20,000 words, which is most of the way done, i think. The next part is probably about 5,000 words of poetry [yeah, i know,  but it’ll work, i think], and then somewhere around 10,000 words of a single uninterrupted dialogue, which is going to be a real challenge, but i’m already really excited for it. The structure’s really difficult for this one and it’s going to be very strange to read but i’m enjoying it.

I’ll try to break it down a bit, partially to give me a better handle on what i’m doing. Most of this novel is drifting dialogue by nameless people. By drifting i mean that there are only the words of their conversation and nothing else. And, yeah, most of the novel is like that which will probably make for an unpleasant read but i don’t care because i’m a genius. Then there are bits given in sentence fragments, just punching images into the reader. Then there are places where a single sentence stretches for a few pages. While, still, at other places the story is given more traditionally, but still very heavy on dialogue. This is probably 2/3rds of the novel or something like that and it’s just voices of the townspeople and their reactions to the murders happening over the course of, say, one year, or so. Throughout this bit there is a teenage love story told the only way that teenage love can be told: by using poetry. The final part will be told through found tapes of a diagnostic interview with a psychologist and the man who committed the murders. That last bit is the uninterrupted dialogue which i’d like to go for, yeah, about 10,000 words.

Taking a lot of chances with it and it’s dangerously convoluted and potentially stupidly experimental, but i’m enjoying it, my second novel, my first horror novel, and only maybe the fourth horror story i’ve ever written. But, like i’ve said before, i don’t know if what i think is horror counts. Like this, no idea if it’s scary, but i think it is, not because of the murders, but because of all these other things that i find terrifying. And, like everything, it’s about language and that’s why everything is in dialogue, so in many ways it’s very similar to Noir: A Love Story, but, at the same time, it’s drastically different, not just stylistically, but also thematically. While the first, ultimately, i think, is about hope, this is about despair, while the first has a center, this one is empty. That’s what’s frightening to me, and i love it.

Been listening to Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony No. 3 for most of the day, which is also called Sorrowful Songs. It’s devastatingly beautiful. Listen.

you are not beautiful

The world has gone blind and no one understands what beauty is anymore. There is only me, and so i must educate.

I could watch that for hours, methinks, and i’ve been watching it over and over here in between staring at the walls and wolfing out. It’s perfect and beautiful, beautiful in the proper sense, in the aesthetic way, and i’ve become an unashamed aesthete, and i likely always was. It makes me weep, this dance, this song, their movement so perfect, so fluid, like everything that ever was or has yet to be, and there’s this power, rising, rising, rising, heard in violin strings, the ways they cry, the ways they teeter back and forth and saw through you, the way they collide and recombine to take you from where you sit to where you will one day be, and their bodies, her legs, her expression, because surely the show is all her, and it’s not simply that she’s a beautiful woman, because that’s obvious, obtuse, too narrow, but that she is a goddess, a form of precision and perfection, and the way she moves is poetry, it’s songwriting at it’s most powerful, it’s words at their most integral, it’s you and me and all that’s in between, and i could weep, are you weeping, you should weep, and you should watch it on fullscreen, dim the lights, turn the sound so loud you no longer hear your heart beating, your lungs breathing, because when it hits, the moment, this singularity where all comes together, when your heart collapses and becomes a part of mine, right around that 3:00 mark, you should weep, because that is what perfection is, that face, her expression, and you should climb onto your roof and transform, become new and whole, become a part of me and I, a part of all that is and will be, because there’s a wholeness in there if you have the right eyes, if you’ve the heart to see true poetry and true language because there is no language, no poetry, no sound quite as glorious, quite as permanent, as eternal as the songs of the body, of the female form in all its eloquence, and don’t close your eyes, never close them, because if you breathe too long than the moment’s gone and perfection is a thing of instants and moments and never a flicker longer, because she’s perfect here, beautiful, unforgettable, but, when the curtain closes, when time starts again, when the dream ends, she’s just another person.

To shift gears completely, i want to read this book by Grace Krilanovich solely because of this introduction by Steve Erickson, who, if you know me, you know is my hero and the world’s greatest novelist. Or at least america’s.

Shift once more, the ravishing Pela Via has been interviewed by the glorious Craig Wallwork at his site which can be found if’n you click his name. Both writers, both great, and links to their stories may be found at their respective websites.

Wolfing out tonight. Oh, new It’s Always Sunny, too. Musn’t forget.

Go forth, see beauty and live gorgeously. I demand it.

The World’s Greatest

It’s me, of course. I’m writing a werewolf novel and it’s going to be wildly experimental and everyone will hate it because most of it, maybe 90%, is going to be dialogue, and the second half is going to be one single conversation between two people. I wrote it on the train and the plane and i think i’m somewhere around 20% done, maybe. I can already tell, though, that it’ll need many rewrites because i’m slowly learning what it’s about as i go. That other one that i just wrote, man, it was all inside me without me knowing, all came together and made sense without me even trying. This one’s going to be effort, but i’m giving myself more time, no five day deadline, though i’d like to be done with it before October. After that comes the greatest steampunk novel ever written and i want to finish it before the year’s out, but, really, before i go to Korea, which gives it about a month or so. Anycase, the thing about these is that they’re genre novels and i don’t understand horror and i don’t read horror so it’s going to be the kind of horror that i pretend is horror, which means that it’ll probably just be some kind of collapsing reality and alienating tome that makes you weep from the loss of sensation. Or, you know, it’ll be stupid. The steampunk one keeps coming in flashes and dreams and it’s going to be so beautiful that i could weep and i want to tell everyone about it right now, but i need to save the words for when i begin it, which is also why werewolfism needs to get out of the way.

Three novels in three months: Doable.

In other news, my story that was meant to be out in Writers’ Bloc last month will be coming out in Foundling Review because they’re good people and accepted it because it was accepted by Writers’ Bloc, which should be indication as to how great Writers’ Bloc was.

Also, Portland and Seattle for the previous ten days and it was fantastic in all the ways that life can be. I killed my interview and will be moving to Korea in November.

My life is awesome. I am the greatest living magic realist.

Manic.

Don’t crash. Not yet.

Wave to Writers’ Bloc

Forgot to mention in the post yesterday that Writers’ Bloc is now closed, which is a bit of a heartbreak as they were surely one of the finest places on the web. My story that was meant to be out in August there never made the light of day because of this, but Foundling Review is picking up a lot of the lost stories and putting them out.

It’s sad news and the editor, Kevin Dickinson, is such a great guy and so damn good at what he does that it’s a true shame to see it closed. I understand, though.

Mostly, I just wanted to say thanks to Writers’ Bloc and Kevin for giving me a chance on stories that no one else believed in. My story Ghoul was almost universally hated, but Kevin saw the beauty in it, saw it for what i meant it to be rather than what he wanted it to be.

Anycase, here’s another chance to read Ghoul and visit Writers’ Bloc.

Thanks.

autumn

is here and i’m so very ready for it. The weather’s already perfect, about 60 degrees, a nice strong wind, and clouds cradling the sky. I feel alive.

Been awhile and now that i don’t do this every day, I’m titling my posts. Gonna be brief, though.

Firstly, i just wrote a novel and i’m elated to an insane degree. Just a few months ago i thought i’d never writing one, just be one of those guys who forever writes short stories. Then, Sunday night, i halfjokingly thought to myself, I’m going to write a novel by Friday. Of course, the novel i planned then was really only about 20,000 words, maybe. Well, halfjoking aside, the challenge was set and i began. I thought i’d shoot for 5,000 words a day, expecting to fall short each day, but it’d keep me pushing. It went like this though:

Sunday night: ~6,500 words
Monday: ~9,500 words
Tuesday: ~8,500
Wednesday: ~7,000
Thursday: ~10,500
Friday: ~4,000

Finished just a bit ago here at 46,298 words and i love it so much i could die. Lots of work to be done with it, not least of which is figuring out the order. See, i wrote it all out of order because there is no order. It ended up being 26 perspectives, 13 for Character A, 13 for Character B. It’s a story about these two characters as told by people who never met them or who barely knew them. It’s a mystery and it’s a love story and there’s even a lot of politics and religion in there. It’s an oddity, to be sure, but it breathes and sings with touches of magic thrown in because i can’t help myself. Anycase, the trick now is to fill up the holes in logic and inconsistencies that arose through the writing because i didn’t revise as i went, just pushed and pushed. I need to put the perspectives in an order that makes for the most drama and tension.

I’m calling it Noir: A Love Story.

Secondly, the Korean job search is going really well and I interview on Tuesday for a job that begins in November. Very excited and i think i’ll get it, 97% sure because i’m awesome and kill interviews.

Thirdly, Portland all next week, which is going to be insanely fun.

Fourthly, and maybe strangest, i may have gastrointestinal bleeding. At least that’s what the internet told me. I’ve only eaten a few handfuls of food this week and only slept for a few hours each day.

Writing a novel while working full time and dying isn’t easy.

But i did it.

Take care, StarChild.