Back To The Machine!

Sometimes a writer stops and goes 'Where did those five thousand words come from?' I was worried that interrupting The Inscrutable Machine to write a short story would kill my mojo. Apparently not.

Here's Chapter Three!

And now I leave you to it. I'm getting that post-writing collapse, and I have a terrible headache and blah blah blah. Chapter 4 is already plotted out. I could theoretically begin writing it tomorrow.

You Can't Scrute The Machine!

Oh, writing feels SO GOOD. Okay, long break over. It ended the way writing breaks should, with me desperately writing something because my brain was about to explode and I couldn't sleep at night for the ideas.

Here, have Chapter One!

In case I haven't mentioned it fifty times, this is the beginning of The Inscrutable Machine, a book about a middle school girl supervillain. Quite Contrary filled me with a burning passion, but it was dark. It kept getting darker, and by the end it just wrung me completely dry of darkness for awhile. I'm going to try to keep The Inscrutable Machine light and frothy.

Yeah, good luck with that.

As an interesting note, I kept feeling that I wasn't ready to start writing it. I had too many unanswered questions about the story. Then I absolutely had to write, so I started it. After that first page, everything began falling into line. I understood the context, and was able to finish my outlines and plan for what comes next. That layered 'theory, then practice, then more theory, then more practice' approach is pretty common in my life. Didn't expect to see it in writing.

The Fat (Rodney Dangerfield Edition)

I have held many jobs in my time. My career path has been bizarre and wandering. I have never gotten less respect than I do as a writer, and since I'm feeling 'bemused' rather than 'angry' about that right now, I'mma gonna write about it.

When I say 'respect' I don't mean personally, like 'You're no good at this'. I mean professionally. I got more professional courtesy in my time working fast food than I have as a writer.

This comes to mind because recently I was approached for a writing job. A friend of mine and seven of his friends are making a game, and my friend (who I will call Tiny) asked me if I'd be interested in doing the writing. Hey, a relaxing side project. Sure, sounded like fun. Then a couple of weeks ago I found out that no, they're serious, and they offered me money. 500e is not huge in the scheme of things, but it means they're serious. So I got seriously to work, and after checking every step along the way if they liked the ideas, I was told to scrap everything because I had misunderstood the project. So I got into contact with the project lead, who seems to have not actually gotten any of my messages or had any of hers passed to me. I'm not sure, because when I ask her questions she lectures me about writing instead of answering them. And now she hasn't answered my email in a week. I'm hoping THAT is just the holidays, but damn.

That project still may work out, it may just be communications problems, but I'm less than hopeful because it's not exactly new.

See, early in the year I got contacted by an animation studio. Honest to Celestia animation studio in India, established and at least moderately successful - I checked. They wanted to produce a cartoon for the American market, and needed a writer. They professed to love every idea I gave them. Then they got slow answering my emails. I was told the marketing department wanted to develop a certain character idea. I thew a pitch at them. They told me they liked it and wanted more development. I threw a more developed version at them. It's been about six months, and they never answered my email. The person I know personally in the company told me that they weren't upset with me, but to forget about them until and unless they got back to me. Probably marketing canceled the whole project - that's really common in animation. But damn, the professional discourtesy in being unwilling to tell me, right?

Or I could go back to when I tried to submit for freelance to Klasky-Csupo, carefully following their submission instructions and providing the proper waivers, only to be told that they no longer accepted submissions. See, they'd changed their policy to only working with a set of preapproved agents, but they hadn't bothered to change the phone line that explained how to submit. PROFESSIONAL COURTESY.

And the 'Next issue!' magazine debacle...

Whew! That was fun to get off my chest. Am I just unlucky, or do all writers get treated like they're expendable?

Quite Contrary INDEED

So, I spent the last several days in a haze of madness, unable to think about anything but writing. As a result, I am proud to have new links for you!

Chapter 8: Rose Red
Chapter 9: Pizza In Purgatory
Chapter 10: Her Only Friend Isn't Her Wolf

This ends part II of the book, and since there's like 3 or 4 more parts I'm starting to wonder if the book will be rather long. It's Mary's fault. I love writing her.

Also, I'm in negotiation for Wild Children's cover art. By far the best thing I've ever written, I'm strongly looking forward to publishing it soon.

I Went To Hippyville And All I Got Was This Lousy Inspiration

(Cross posted from my DA account where I post my roughs)

So I disappeared for a bit! A trice. A small amount of time. I was gone about a week because a charming young lady of my acquaintance invited me to attend the Oregon Country Fair with her. I had never heard of it, but a week in said young lady's company is always relaxing and fun. Seriously, she's a great friend.

For those who don't know - and I didn't know - the Oregon Country Fair is an annual gigantic (45k attendance) 3-day hippy street fair out in the middle of the woods of Oregon. If you are a hippy or a member of any hippy-associated subculture, this will blow your mind. And I'm not referring to the drugs, because they actually try really hard to keep booze and drugs out of the fair grounds. Those are mainly to be had in unbelievable amounts in the camp grounds surrounding the fair, and camping is about the only practical way to attend the fair.

I had three immediate problems: I'm not a hippy. If anything, I'm a goth. The hardest mind-altering substance I use is caffeine. I hate camping.

Problem one was kind of funny. I received almost no hostility, but a fair amount of suspicion and constant baffled interrogations about why I was wearing a black suit. Ah, noncomformists. You're so conformist.

Problem two merely accentuated how out of my element I was. It's not like anybody so much as pressured me to take a drink, and I don't care what anybody else is doing as long as they don't give me trouble.

Problem three did kinda spoil the event. No electricity? Cold showers on a freezing morning? Man, do I hate camping!

Despite all of that the fair is bizarre and fascinating, and I'm glad I attended once. I saw all sorts of unusual crafts, like hand-made oil kaleidoscopes by a *real* expert. Those were gorgeous. The spontaneous themed parades were also fantastically cool.

Then I got home, sometime late last week. I'm not really sure when, because a week without technology... meant a week without writing. I went kind of nuts and only resurfaced last night!
On the plus side, I do love Quite Contrary and it's coming along swimmingly. This section was meant to be pretty short, but I've learned that a chapter will be whatever length it needs to be, and can't be predicted. And it let me show off the weirdness of Norse Mythology, one of my favorite genres.

Next time: Mary meets the Rose of Delphi! Someday, I'd like Rose to get her own book.

I'm Lovin' This Depression

Those are strange words to say honestly. Back in depressive phase, and it feels better than manic. I'm calm and it's the distractions from my creativity that have died!

Unfortunately, only the emotional distractions. Life remains vigorous, if no longer miserable. I've got very little time and energy to spare, and I'm devoting most of it to writing. That means The Doll House stories are getting cleaned and arted up very slowly, because I'd rather get my next project good and started.

Poor Parthenogenesis. The unloved middle child. Maybe I'll be able to get back into it when I return to manic phase, but I tried to reread what I've done already and my brain rebelled. I absolutely do not want to be in Shem's head right now. Molly wants little kids and a brand new story, so I'm taking some of the elements I would have used on Rose Of Delphi and I'm starting a new book! And by 'starting' I mean 'Have started'. I've got the first chapter done to help me set the characters and feel, and now I'm building the overall plot outline while trying not to rush straight into chapter two. God, I'm so inspired.

Tentative working title: Quite Contrary. Mary gets lost and ends up in a fairy tale, like everyone who gets lost does. What, you think they were LYING about the yeti, aliens, giant fish, or the little town where no one spoke English and the radios and TVs didn't work? In Mary's case she accidentally becomes Red Riding Hood, and as I hope everyone knows that's a story with a very bad track record of ending well. But the Wolf's going to have his hands full, because Mary is the bitchiest nine year old that ever was. Whatever you tell her to do, she won't do the opposite. She'll find something even MORE rebellious to do.

Mmm, loving this so much. Writer's gotta write.