So here’s what I had to teach to my user dictionary over the course of writing BLUE HIGHWAY. Apparently I break the rules, according to Microsoft. Some of these are understandable. Some are just baffling.
Heavy stuff, absolution. The undoing, or at least the forgiveness of sins. It’s a hard thing to come by. Redemption is a story driver that gets kicked around and lip service is played to it, but oftentimes, just that. I mean, video game characters get redemption through laying waste to countless multitudes of enemies and then often winning at best a pyrrhic victory as they bleed out in the last few seconds or stare meaningfully into the middle distance.
Absolution, however, is something even rarer. The undoing of sin, the race to correct it, by means of sacrifice? Forget about it. Villains are without redemptive qualities and heroes are often enshrined from their first words as purveyors of good.
Which is one of the things that makes the backstory for the new WORLD OF WARCRAFT expansion so compelling, because it focuses on one of the most fundamentally broken characters in the sprawling mythology of that game/world. I’m trying to think of how much information I can give you without frying your brain to make you understand this. Let’s give it a shot.
Here’s a 270 degree panorama of my office. Why am I posting this? Because in the near future I’m going to need to pack all of this up and move it out so the flooring can be redone here (as is going to happen in the rest of the house, apparently.) This thought terrifies me, and I’m sure you can figure out why from the pictures. You can’t even see the second table really, or the guitar amp and effects or the junk under my desk.
This process may indeed kill me. Or I may pack up all of my books and then get around to unpacking them and just saying “Nah.” Which I guess wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but doesn’t sound appealing now. I dunno. I’ve been collecting these things for a long damn time, and still can’t resist a trip to a used bookstore for a book about X-raying the Pharaohs or any period book on Los Angeles or a slightly better copy of LO! And I’ve been buying comics trades since they were just paperback collections of comics. Funny thing about that is most of those that I have now are basically valueless, with maybe the exception of the SANDMAN first edition collections. Otherwise, c’mon, who pays money for reprint comics.
Have fun poring over the book titles on the shelves. Had a pretty good time amassing them.
Bit of a scare yesterday. Was going to take Doc Connors in for a routine weighing (his low was 4.7 grams at his worst point, which is not far from skin and bones) when my son called me over to take a look at him. The lower part of his belly was a mess of purple veins and yellow-orange masses just below the skin. Gonna be honest. My heart dropped right out of my chest. It’d been a long struggle to get him stabilized and eating again and I really wasn’t ready to be told that it was time to pack it in.
But I took him to the vet anyways.
Turns out that he’s fine. The swelling in his liver has gone down (not much, but some) which means that his body is beginning to process all the fat that accumulated there. He’s also putting on weight, up to 7.1 grams now, which is still lower than when we bought him (somewhere near 9 grams), but far better than the lows when we thought he was going to need to be put down. The shocking visuals were courtesy his innards starting up work after a period of very low activity if not inactivity. The orange masses were small fat pads that are beginning to build up (as well as at the base of his tail, which is where geckos normally store fat.)
So it’s more or less back to normal. The worst is past, but there’s still no clarity as to whether the liver swelling will affect him long-term. Just a matter of keeping him fed and hydrated and more activity to help burn off or redistribute the fat that’s left in his system. Then figuring out what can be done to get him some more exercise. He seems to like exploring outside of his tank, but that’s not a viable option. Maybe a gecko obstacle course or something.
So I’ve been busy lately. Just not with stuff that you can really see.
Like the tiny creature above. This is Doctor Connors, your average leopard gecko from a big pet store which my son bought as a pet. And things were fine for about four or five days. Then he stopped eating. And kept stopped eating for another few days. So he went to the vet. He got a tube feeding and weighed out (already skinny) then sent home with medication and instructions for administering said medication.
Note that Dr. Connors is about six inches long and at this point weighed six grams and change. We get to give him medicine and watch him not eat. After a few more days, he goes back to the vet. They take him and say “fifty-fifty chance that he’ll make it.” I bring my kids around to say goodbye to the little fella, my son especially as the lizard is his pet (and really doesn’t have a name at this point as we’ve only had him healthy for about a week and the rest of the time has been pins and needles.) The vet, who really has done a much better job than perhaps I’ve suggested in this narrative, says that we should go to the pet store and invoke the warranty and get a new lizard.
We do. He’s a giant gecko named Apollo and has settled into things quite well.
Four days later, I get a call from the pet store saying that Dr. Connors has been stabilized at the vet and can come home. And since our house is as close to home as he’s got, I go to get a new tank and lights and water dishes and hides and reptile carpet and bugs to try to feed him. Dr. Connors still refuses to eat. So it’s calcium drop and water/pedialyte baths and me trying to feed him what amounts to finely-ground dog food in an effort to put some protein into his system and get his metabolism started again.
See, once geckos go anorexic, they take the fat that’s stored in their tails and break into it. And if the stress is big enough, they metabolize it quickly. Too quickly, in fact. Hepatic hyperlipotosis or something close to it. The fat in their bloodstream collects in their liver and it swells up, as does the gallbladder. This was noted earlier, but as a side symptom, not as a potential cause of his failure to eat. Previously it was thought that he’d maybe picked up a parasite or a dreaded Cryptosporidium infection (which is always terminal, usually sooner and not later.)
He’s still refusing to eat, though is otherwise relatively active and pretty calm, contentedly crawling over my hands and up my arms, not freaking out when he’s handled. But not eating either. At this point, I’m pretty desperate. It’s been three weeks of off and on care and trying to hand feed this tiny creature. It’s become impossible to even give the food that I’d been able to trick him into eating. So I try an emergency diet (which is mostly an egg-based thing, as far as I can tell) and he’s able to eat it, mostly because it’s one step above liquid and will lick it off his lips.
Three days of this.
And then something happens. The butter worm that I’d put in his dish, more as an act of desperation than anything else, disappears while I’m out shopping. I take stuff out of the tank, looking for the escaped worm. There’s no way he’d eaten it. That would be like you or me eating a whole ham in a sitting. But the worm is nowhere to be found. So I put another one in. It disappears that night, even though Dr. Connors doesn’t do much other than hide out under the fake plastic rocks he’s got.
Two days ago, he started eating crickets on his own.
His liver is still swollen, or was as of Monday. The vet says the only thing to do is to keep him fed and get him some exercise to metabolize the food and hopefully getting his body to work normally will cause the stored fat in the liver to be processed. No guarantees of that.
In the meantime, I’ve learned far more about the keeping of leopard geckos than I intended to, from creating a heat gradient (and using the temperature gun that my brother in law gave me for Christmas to check that), to the right food for a growing gecko, to how to trick a gecko into opening its mouth (which only sometimes works). Mostly I’ve had to learn how to be very, very, very gentle, as the creature that I’ve been spending all this effort feeding could be snapped like a twig at any moment by my stupid sausage-like fingers.
Hopefully he’ll stick around awhile.
Trying something new. Back when I blogged and it was considered cool (hahaha) in the early 2000s, I got tagged in a couple things (mostly comics stuff). I mean, this was back when I was on Blogspot which was basically forever ago. But I saw Andrea was looking for tagees, so I volunteered.
1. What are you currently working on?
The biggest current project is revisions to a novel called BLUE HIGHWAY. It’s also a horrible example for talking about process, because I’ve been working on it for some time, and it’s taken several different forms (screenplay, comic script, novel).
BLUE HIGHWAY is probably best categorized as near-future science fiction, but even that feels like it’s off the mark. But this is always the problem. It’s up to the writer to write the book and then they have to worry about marketing it afterwards.
2. How does your work differ from others in its genre?
Probably by emphasizing the human and cultural aspects above and beyond the technical. BLUE HIGHWAY isn’t hard SF. It’s not trying to bend over backwards to make accurate predictions about the world how ever many years from now.
One thing BLUE HIGHWAY isn’t trying to do is worry about the apocalypse, slow-motion or otherwise. If anything it’s a Nopocalypse book. The world doesn’t end, even after a series of events that could easily be portrayed as the borderline between civilization and regression.
If you’re curious, some research and snippets from the book can be seen here.
3. Why do you do what you do?
Because I haven’t been locked up yet? Because nobody else is doing it the same way? Because it’s the only way to keep the little voices from taking over? Because I like making stuff that I’d want to read?
I know. Lots of question marks. Ultimately I can’t even properly answer it for myself If I’m being honest, it’s three and four above. But even this only keeps the little voices away for a little while at a time.
4. How does your writing process work?
That’s assuming I have a consistent process, even for novels. Short stories, I get an idea and then I usually just run with it. It’s relatively easy for me to support up to about 10K words with just that in mind.
Novels are trickier. They’re like a series of marathons and sometimes the finish line changes and suddenly you’re running uphill and you don’t know why.
I’ll start with the basic idea (which is the easiest part) and then try to work out characters who can play in that space. The thing is to let them drive the story. You can do it plot-first, but that’s hard for me to make work effectively. This means the development is often slow. Right now I’m using Scrivener and a lot of cards with little pieces that I’d like to use and seeing where they fit and where they don’t. That gives the plot arc (which is a character arc if I’ve done it right). Then it’s a matter of fleshing out and executing.
Have to remind myself that I can’t get bogged down in research too much, because it’s a perfect excuse to not actually write. And it’s the writing, even notes or little sketches, where the work gets done.
Then it’s a matter of knowing where you screwed up in the structural phase and taking advantage of opportunities that your subconscious allows you. Which is why I write a *lot* in the development phase, because sometimes something slips out and that’s better than what you started with.
I’d tag other writers, but I think most of ‘em are too busy to deal with this kind of thing.
So I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out why things are the way they are. Not everything, mind you. I don’t have the time to compose a supertheory of super-everything. But when I spend time in a place or situation, my brain gets to considering how it got there, the way it is and what brought it to where it is. Nothing happens in a vacuum, right? It’s all accretion and decay and rebuilding, particularly in matters of culture and the like. That stuff isn’t planned, no matter how many would-be-franchises get put out there. Particularly in fandoms.
And I’ve spent more than my fair share in a number of fandoms: science fiction, music, blogging, comics, academia (oh yeah, that’s a fandom, too). I end up never really belonging in any of them. It’s that outsider’s outsider thing working in my favor.
Slap a big question mark at the end of that last statement. Seriously. There’s nothing stranger than thinking “hey, these should be my kin,” looking around and figuring out that they’re not, that this place you’re ‘supposed’ to belong in simply doesn’t fit. There’s plenty of people I enjoy hanging out with, but once it moves past that circle, buckle your seatbelts for fandom.
So much of fandoms now is the whole basis of personal identity through consumption, which is something that often baffles me. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy comics, as an example. I’ve written ‘em, written about them on and off for more than ten years (two volumes worth of material if one was so inclined to look them up on Amazon), have been to more comic shows than I can count, starting in 1989 and read them since 1981. You’d think, true-blue comic fan dyed in the wool, cut me and I bleed four colors forever, right?
So I shot some stuff for Intrapanel, but I’m away from my regular office and don’t have my updated Tumblr password, so it won’t get posted until Tuesday, likely.
But here’s a taste. It’s not the usual thing.
So if anyone knows how to reset a Tumblr password without having the old one, let me know and I’ll post it early, otherwise, be patient.
I’d have posted this to my regular weblog, but WordPress is being stupid.
Spoilers for everything. No whining.
GODZILLA is a tough one. On paper, like say, superheroes, Godzilla is a no-brainer. The no-brainerest of them. He is a titan, a walking natural disaster, the reversal of human hubris and belief in a subjugated nature (particularly that in the harnessing of the atom and unleashing it against its fellow human in the form of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.) Godzilla is the shadow cast by the artificial daylight of the atom bomb. This is not hard.
Of course, this is the primal Godzilla, the first one, the black and white monstrosity that unleashed death in footsteps and atomic breath upon Japan in the dark horror of GOJIRA. Eventually, that force, like the atom, was tamed and trained and reshaped into a being that not only tolerated humanity, but became its protector in ever-more elaborate scenarios (MONSTER ZERO, DESTROY ALL MONSTERS and GODZILLA VERSUS THE SMOG MONSTER being personal favorites).
The pendulum swung in the opposite direction later, where Godzilla once again played the role of a terrestrial vengeance, the id of Gaia, punishing civilization for disrespect (and I’ll admit only partial familiarity with the turn-of-the-century Godzilla offerings, yes, I’ll turn in my membership card). But there’s room for interpretation, as with any iconic figure.
This afternoon saw me put to bed a project that’s been hounding me since August. It doesn’t matter that I still don’t think it’s complete or that it’s only good in patches. I’ve done what I can do to smooth them. Someone else’s hands will be on it now. But this one’s been a monster. I can talk about only some of why it’s been so. The other stuff isn’t important really, no matter how juicy you may think it is.
So last year, I started the draft in late August. Wrote four hundred pages between September and the week before Christmas. Add to that being a dad, husband, out sick for a week and undertaking an ill-conceived short story submission (“The Black Mass Variations” which may or may not see the light of day), throw in one major but nebulous health scare, spice with a hernia diagnosis and Making Christmas Happen, I hit the wall. I shambled through the holidays, utterly shellshocked. Was a zombie through New Year’s Day. Went into surgery for said hernia not long after.
And then I set in to rewrite. Not only to rewrite, but to tear the whole thing down. This after examination between me and my collaborators where a number of things weren’t working. Didn’t matter if they were all my fault or not, all the problems *felt* like they were my fault and that I wasn’t doing enough. After taking an outline and turning it into four hundred coherent (but not without problems, some of them major) pages in three months and change. Go ahead, try it sometime. No, I’m not a believer in NANOWRIMO. Write a short story instead.
So I went back to square one. Threw out two hundred pages and their attached outline. Re-cast the main character, the second lead and the villain. Wrote and cut wrote and cut wrote and cut. That’s been life since puking my guts out right after hernia surgery. Yeah, I took a whole week off, but really I didn’t, because I was hip deep in that book after two days, trying to unlearn the way I’ve been writing for the last let’s just say ten years because that’s a less depressing number than how long it’s really been.
And now it’s all done but the crying. Well, that and a final pass or two. And the ending. Endings are tough and this one is likely above my pay grade. It’s been a process that started as exhausting and then got dipped in a healthy coating of self-doubt and complete belief in my inability to do any of this right. Not sure I’m through that last part, honestly. The whole “write to please yourself” thing works great if you’re the guy cashing the checks.
Going back to the beginning, trying to undo years of being a feral writer, it’s not easy. And by “not easy” it’s like trying to cut down a sequoia tree with a chainsaw that you can’t even hold because you’re sure that the chainsaw is turned the wrong way and is going to cut your damn hands off the second you try to flip the ignition switch.
Self-doubt is a crippler. Make no mistake.
Which takes me to DISINTEGRATION by the Cure, which turned 25 last week.
I know. Time-machine-whiplash go!
So it’s 1990 (I got the album almost a year after it came out because I didn’t see the video for “Fascination Street” until early that year) and I’m about ready to graduate from college. I have two degrees and absolutely no concept as to how to grapple with the real world using either of them. Good thing I didn’t graduate in say 2008, right? I’d have really been up the chocolate creek without a popsicle stick.
I’m graduating and I have no path. Not the whole Joseph Campbell path of the hero thing, but no clue what I’m going to do next. Which is not a happy place to be. And The Cure managed to find a perfect soundtrack for that. If my copy had been a tape, I’d have wrapped it around the playback head, I played it so many times. If it had been vinyl, I’m sure the grooves would have been worn so badly that it would all sound like surface noise with the occasional drum hit.
See, I wasn’t a big Cure fan back then. Kinda liked some of the songs (and probably would have gotten into PORNOGRAPHY in a big way if any of my multiple groups had been back then). But I got DISINTEGRATION in a big way. It was familiar territory already, anxious and trying to shake it but not knowing how and just riding it out. Which is how I’d spent most of my days as graduation loomed (remind me to tell you about the missed final that almost kept me from walking sometime). Nervous, unsure, borderline panic.
There are times that this crap can be held back. There’s even days that it doesn’t show up at all. But it didn’t take much to let it in, just crack the door a little and like a hungry bear, it’ll just stroll in and push you around and you get to take it.
You don’t take it because it’s fun. You take it because you don’t have a bear gun in your hands to drop it in its tracks. Or rather, I do it like that.
But listening to DISINTEGRATION, I wasn’t reveling in that sort of clobbering helplessness. Matter of fact, that was usually the furthest thing from my mind as I’d listen to “Closedown” or “Lullaby” at high volume on my brick-heavy Sony “portable” soundsystem. It was something else I was feeling. Like someone else had been there and through it. Which is of course the secret to all this depressing music, and that goes all the way from the blues to outsider stoner doom beats. Someone else is out there and they’ve had an experience like yours. And they got through it so maybe you will too.
Maybe. Or at least you can hold it off for awhile.
Someone once told me that when you get older, you get more like you already are. Which in my case is probably not a good thing, and explains why self-doubt can wander in and make me its punk (and I mean that in the terms of the prison punk; suppose the more contemporary term would be bitch). It’s a tough thing to fight. But then you’re fighting yourself, and that’s not a winning match up.
Don’t fight yourself. We’re already standing in deep water most of the time. The world already has arrayed a number of horrors against us, pelting us with them on a regular basis. There’s wonders too. Don’t get me wrong. But they’re tough to see sometimes.
Your own abilities are tough to see sometimes. But so’s your resilience. That’s invisible, especially when you’ve been bleeding for awhile and it’s nothing but blood in the water.
Made it this far, though. Now it’s just grappling with the terrifying thought of what to work on next, since the world at large isn’t exactly demanding the next entry of my never-ending franchise entertainment series. It’s mighty good content.