be careful, my children

Be Careful, My Children

And so the novel’s finally complete. Be Careful, My Children. Oddly enough, the first draft is almost exactly as long as I thought it would be. Got the final 5k words written just now and we’ve reached the end of a very strange journey.

I won’t post the chapter this time because then you’d have the ending, and that’s a weird piece of information to give, but I will post a short piece of that last chapter.

Before the Tree before the world before Time came to this place there was the Father. The Father found the child Goddess dreaming and He listened to Her dreamt song coursing through Him and all the everness. He lifted Her up but still she slept. Small with hair as black as the neverness and eyes vibrant and purple. Color did not yet exist like it does now but the Father saw Her eyes and fashioned color and Light. He fashioned these from the notes of the song. With His hands He grabbed the notes and swirled their essence into the everness and from them bubbled the world. The world was a sphere of Nothingness but the song promised and envisioned so much. The Father bent the song towards the world He molded and the song gave life and Light to the sphere but also Death and so we know the Goddess as the Goddess of Death and Light. Within Death there are a thousand thousands lives and within life there is but one Death continuing forever in all directions and across all dimensions but our infinitesimal Deaths are but a grain of sand on the shore of eternity. When the world was fashioned and still the song persisted the Father tied the notes around the world binding us and our world to the Dream. With this finished He watched the lives of the world come into being and He smiled. The Father watched over us and the Goddess dreamt. The more the Father watched the more He understood the sorrow of life and He saw lives blinking in and out of existence before He could name them or love them and He returned to the song and tried to bend it to better serve life on the world. But the Dream and the song are not for this world and so they cannot be made for it. The Father finally understood and when He understood he lay down upon the world and ripped open His chest. The Father killed himself to breed our world within the Nothingness of yours. From Father’s chest sprouted the Tree and the Tree became the heart of the world. It used the Father’s body to create itself and His blood became the rain forever Cycling and his bones became the Dust. Every drop of semen in His testicles became a brother and we brothers fashioned our homes from the organs and skin of the Father. And so through the Father we learnt creation and from the Goddess we learnt Death and from the two of them we learnt the Cycle. For Father returns to us every four seasons to give us life new and when we seek through the everness it is the hands of the Father guiding us through the Dream.

So, yeah, things just keep getting weirder in the novel. The language of this final chapter wasn’t what I expected it to be but I think it turned out all right.

Finished it later than planned because of Chelsea’s holiday party, which was really fun, but it meant I was hungover yesterday and lost the entire day to film.

Watched Only God Forgives, which is probably perfect but also just very bizarre. I’m not a fan of David Lynch and this was very Lynchian. I loved the silence of it all because I think film should have way less talking, and the aesthetic was so strong and perfectly executed, and everything was held back the way I like, but I guess I just didn’t actually care about most things that happened. So I suppose that’s what missed for me. It was like a perfect thing that I just didn’t care about enough. Still, though, definitely worth watching.

Also watched Robot & Frank, which is a pretty cool film about a man spiralling into dementia who befriends his robot caretaker and uses the robot to help him rob things. A pretty interesting film that’s often funny but also a moving meditation on what life is and what it means to be alive.

Now I’m in that weird post-novel space where everything’s bright and easy and lovely but also sort of opaque. The novel was meant for Broken River Books but I don’t really think it’s a good fit there. It may not be a good fit anywhere. Maybe it’s a bizarro novel, accidentally and finally. It’s on the short side, too, but I don’t know. I have several hours to reread, edit, rewrite, and assemble the novel into place.

Also, the giant monster novel sort of formed and crystallised in my head as I was writing this, which is exciting. I think that might be what I write next.

Also, getting very close to the date of a super secret surprise, which is actually the weirdest thing I ever wrote.

Anyrate, the indiegogo campaign reached and passed its halfway mark this weekend! Big thanks to everyone who contributed, but especially Matt Dodge who pushed us over the midway mark. I’ve known Matt for a very long time but we’ve only talked a handful of times, which is sort of weird. He’s a musician and he just had a new album come out.

But, yeah, still so many great rewards, including a new one from Passenger Side Books, who’s being generous enough to donate five bundles of all their chapbooks. That also comes with the anthology! So check it out and thank you, sincerely, from the bottom and top of my heart. It means the world to me how awesome my friends and even strangers have been during all of this.

pulling off my procrastination hat

and putting on my writerly one.

Finally jumping into that novel I mentioned ten hours ago. It’s going to be very vignettey with lots of different narrators, all unnamed. And I switched the civilisation from only female to only male, because this novel is going to be about gender, in a way that none of my writer really ever has been. For now I’m calling it Be Careful, My Children.

First chapter written here:

It wasn’t how it was supposed to go, you know what I mean? Jiyun never hurt a body her whole life and I think she really loved those dirty little pale fuckers. I mean, I knew they weren’t human. They can’t be, right? Those creepy masks and the way they stand all wrong, short and wrongly pale. And they’re all male, if you can believe that. Just a civilisation of males.

Those horrible little creatures. She was an artist, you know? She brought them to the world. Do you remember how it was the first time you saw their images? A new civilisation, unknown and unlooked for, buried deep in the heart of a desert, and somehow just never seen. Jiyun told me about it before she published anything, her eyes so wide I could walk inside them, and I got drunk on her story, drunker on the photographs.

I thought they were all children at first, and that’s what she called them: Eolini, but the world called them niños. I mean, after so many years, after the entire world’s been mapped, destroyed, and rebuilt, we discover this ancient civilisation just living like none of this has ever happened. Well, I mean, you talked to everyone else, so I don’t know what you want me to say. I never went there. I mean, I was in love with the idea, like everyone else, probably, but I had no interest in, like, seeing them in real life. Add to that the fact that all those idiots died lost in the desert trying to get there.

But I can tell you about Jiyun, if that’s what I’m here for. And, by the way, I don’t think it’s said often enough, but she fought to protect them, you know? She didn’t want to exploit them. That’s not why she took those photographs. She found them on accident and photographed them out of pure curiosity and awe. There was no malice in her. Never has been. Kindest girl I ever knew, and I knew her for a long time. She wasn’t my best friend, but she was top five kind of material. We were even briefly lovers, but, um, well, just keep that private, you know? I don’t want people coming to my door and searching for answers. You saw what happened to her mothers. It’s just a shit situation and I sort of would rather not be associated with the whole thing, you know?

But Jiyun, she was kind. I know that’s what you say about strangers when you don’t have anything else to say, but she really was. She was just a kind and loving girl, and a devoted lover. Even after we ended that form of physical contact, she remained a real and true supporter of my life, defending me from all the women I fell in and out of love with. But that’s just the kind of person she was.

And to end like this, dripping down the jaws of those fucking things.

She told me about the masks, but, I mean, what’s there to say about this shit? I don’t get it. I don’t get them. It’s not even their primitive nature or whatever you want to call it. It’s this deification of dust. I mean, I get the water thing. That’s built right into our genetics, but dust? It’s like they got some halfassed translation of the bible a thousand years ago and latched onto the one word they knew.

You know they have, like, one hundred ways to say dust? Dust. Just fucking dust.

I mean, I know Whorfian theory and whatever, but what kind of mystery or truth does dust hold, for them or anyone, you know?

But Jiyun, she was so kind. Her long black hair always up in a bun, her glasses always breaking, always getting lost. I bought her one of those neck things, you know? It goes around the neck and attaches to your glasses, you know? Yeah, well, right, so she even lost that. It was funny but that kind of says some of it, right? She was clumsy and careless, but there was no meanness in her.

Even as a girl–you’ll laugh, probably, but it’s not that funny. It’s sort of sad, I think. But she loved animals, always has. Probably why she got so caught up in that shit with the niños. But all these wolves were always wandering the city back then. Mothers kept a close eye on us, what with buildings always collapsing and everything sort of just crumbling, you know? But the wolves were everywhere and I remember watching her from my window as she walked up to a wolf. Starving and terrified, it bit at her. She pulled back her bleeding hand and held it, then licked the blood away and offered it to the wolf. It snapped at her again, because, you know, it’s a wolf, but instead of running away, she just let it bite, and that bite became a lick, and that lick became a hug. She just held that mangy fierce thing back in the gravepit behind the highrises we grew up in. For weeks she fed it and just held it. I don’t know why, but she never tried to play with it and the real thing is that she always did it in secret. If I was with her, she avoided the pit and just acted like she always did. But then I’d catch her from my window, holding that wolf.

something about broken rivers

J David Osborne, the man behind Broken River Books, just put out a weeklong submission window for 2015. While that’s a crazy long time from now, I’m going to shoot for it, which means a week full of writing. Going back into the old style, shooting for 5k words a day.

It’s going to be a peculiar novel. A noir set in a surreal place where it always rains at the center of a desert, inhabited by tiny white females who tattoo their skin and create masks out of dust when they hit puberty that they wear for the rest of their lives.

It’s gonna be strange and probably brutal, and it’ll be polyphonic magic realism, because that’s what always happens when I put words to page, but hopefully it’ll be something new and exciting and gnarly.

Starting tomorrow.

Look out.

revenge of the scammed

Lots to update everyone on. I’ll start out with posting the interviews I’ve published in the last month:

Fish Bites Cops! by David James Keaton. Interview published 4/12/2013 at Monkeybicycle.

Understories by Tim Horvath. Interview published 27/11/2013 at Monkeybicycle.

My Pet Serial Killer and The Laughter of Strangers by Michael J Seidlinger. Interview published 21/11/2013 at Monkeybicycle.

The House Enters the Street by Gretchen Henderson. Interview published 16/11/2013 at Monkeybicycle.

The Shape of Blue by Liz Scheid. Interview published 6/11/2013 at Monkeybicycle.

Can’t believe it’s been so long since I updated, especially since I planned on doing it every day during November.

Anyrate, as many of you know, I’ve been defrauded. Nate Tower and so many others have helped me organise a very cool campaign to try to recoup my losses. I’m out $2,000 and I’ll write a proper post about the whole thing later. Maybe this weekend. But, for now, just check out the indiegogo campaign.

So check out The Revenge of the Scammed Anthology.

More than just helping me recoup my losses, it’s full of very cool content. The Anthology is going to be killer and then people like Ryan W Bradley, Charles Spitzack, J David Osborne, and so many others are providing amazing things for backers.

Here’s a list of the anthology contributors:

  • Jesus Angel Garcia
  • David S. Atkinson
  • Allie Marini Batts
  • Ryan W Bradley
  • Paul D Brazil
  • Darlene Campos
  • Garrett Cook
  • Sandy Barrett Ebner
  • Rory Fleming
  • Susan Gibb
  • Michael Gonzalez
  • Amanda Gowin
  • Douglas Hackle
  • Sally Heymann
  • Don Lawson
  • William Lemon
  • h. l. nelson
  • J David Osborne
  • Alex Pruteanu
  • Stephen V Ramey
  • Matt Rowan
  • Robyn Ryle
  • Michael J. Seidlinger
  • Grergory Sherl
  • Ryan Shoemaker
  • Sam Snoek-Brown
  • Ben Tanzer
  • Susan Tepper
  • Refe Tuma
  • Richard Thomas
  • Nathaniel Tower
  • Robert Vaughan

And, if you’re a fan of me doing things, there are all sorts of things I’m personally offering, such as my first novel, Ash Cinema, drawings, paintings, videos of me singing, personal biographies and novellas, and even my editing skills.

So, for this holiday season, help a poor wild ydde out and he’ll repay you in content!

It really means so much to me that this has been put together. I can’t explain how grateful I am and I’ll never be able to thank everyone enough.

So just know I love you and appreciate all you’ve ever done for me.