If It's Friday This Must Be...

I have not been hitting my former standards of words written a day since I started working outside the house, but at least I'm starting to gather some steam, getting a few hundred words a day in during work days. Now that Minicon is over, I need to try and find a good routine, something like writing 250 to 500 words on workdays, 1500 on weekdays when I'm off, and 250 to 500 on weekend days. That would put me between 4250 and 5500 words a week, which is a fine target goal. Once I've managed to do that for awhile, I can start to slowly ramp the speed back up.

I've decided to knock out the Space Opera Pirate story this weekend, and then get back to Into This Land. The WWII Ghost Ships tale isn't coming together and I refuse to worry about it. I have plenty of other projects to carry me along.

I'm starting to miss writing Rija, the main character in the above mentioned novel. She's fun to write, in an odd way. She's kind of hapless and I'm writing her story as the reverse of the typical High Fantasy Hero/Heroine. I like her because she's not a hero. She gets into situations and does the best she can until she can figure out a way to extract herself. No moping, no whining, no crying about her fate. Just get through it and get to the other side.

I also need to send some submissions out and make a decision about one of the rejected pieces. This is the fourth rejection that basically said, "Reads like the start of a novel." I would slap the label "Untitled Novel #6" on it and be fine with that, except I have this sneaky feeling it wants to be Science Fiction, as in hard Science Fiction. This is a problem. I'm a fantasist, you see. Urban fantasy, dark fantasy, magical realism, paranormal romance. At times I'll slip over into space opera (sometimes poking at its tropes and clichés, sometimes wallowing in them like a happy pig in a mud bath), but hard SF?

There's a perfectly good reason I'm a Comparative Literature and Cultural Studies guy. My brain simply doesn't grasp most sciences, except at the basic levels.

I wonder if I can subvert that piece and turn it into an urban fantasy space opera?

I'm going to try to complete some non-writing projects this morning and afternoon, then settle in a write the weekend away.

I've decided not to join HWA at this time. This is based mostly on the fact that horror is kind of an incidental sideline for me as a writer, not my main focus. Also, I think I've pretty much decided not to join SFWA when the time comes, unless someone comes along and give me a damned compelling reason to change my mind. I had my doubts about the group, and after watching and interacting with the sfwa community, my doubts are greater.

Well, I'm not getting my non-writing projects done by hanging around LJ-land! I'll check back later.

In Peace,
Michael

If It's Friday This Must Be...

I have not been hitting my former standards of words written a day since I started working outside the house, but at least I'm starting to gather some steam, getting a few hundred words a day in during work days. Now that Minicon is over, I need to try and find a good routine, something like writing 250 to 500 words on workdays, 1500 on weekdays when I'm off, and 250 to 500 on weekend days. That would put me between 4250 and 5500 words a week, which is a fine target goal. Once I've managed to do that for awhile, I can start to slowly ramp the speed back up.

I've decided to knock out the Space Opera Pirate story this weekend, and then get back to Into This Land. The WWII Ghost Ships tale isn't coming together and I refuse to worry about it. I have plenty of other projects to carry me along.

I'm starting to miss writing Rija, the main character in the above mentioned novel. She's fun to write, in an odd way. She's kind of hapless and I'm writing her story as the reverse of the typical High Fantasy Hero/Heroine. I like her because she's not a hero. She gets into situations and does the best she can until she can figure out a way to extract herself. No moping, no whining, no crying about her fate. Just get through it and get to the other side.

I also need to send some submissions out and make a decision about one of the rejected pieces. This is the fourth rejection that basically said, "Reads like the start of a novel." I would slap the label "Untitled Novel #6" on it and be fine with that, except I have this sneaky feeling it wants to be Science Fiction, as in hard Science Fiction. This is a problem. I'm a fantasist, you see. Urban fantasy, dark fantasy, magical realism, paranormal romance. At times I'll slip over into space opera (sometimes poking at its tropes and clichés, sometimes wallowing in them like a happy pig in a mud bath), but hard SF?

There's a perfectly good reason I'm a Comparative Literature and Cultural Studies guy. My brain simply doesn't grasp most sciences, except at the basic levels.

I wonder if I can subvert that piece and turn it into an urban fantasy space opera?

I'm going to try to complete some non-writing projects this morning and afternoon, then settle in a write the weekend away.

I've decided not to join HWA at this time. This is based mostly on the fact that horror is kind of an incidental sideline for me as a writer, not my main focus. Also, I think I've pretty much decided not to join SFWA when the time comes, unless someone comes along and give me a damned compelling reason to change my mind. I had my doubts about the group, and after watching and interacting with the sfwa community, my doubts are greater.

Well, I'm not getting my non-writing projects done by hanging around LJ-land! I'll check back later.

In Peace,
Michael

Meet Me In A Dream Of This Hard Land

I have taken down my previous post.

I try to be a person who doesn't throw gasoline onto raging fires. It's not professional.

So I've deleted it, but I will post this part of it here, because it is true:

Watching the sfwa community is like watching a 100 car banana train derail and roll down a hill in slow motion as it inexplicably bursts into flames and smashes on the rocks below only to be swallowed up by the rising tide.

If that community was suppose to help SFWA reach out to neo-pros and semi-pros and explain why they should join, it's done pretty much the opposite from where I'm sitting.

Enough said.

It's poetry month. Here you go:

Nobody lives here anymore
But once...
Children's voices flew through the yard
Like rain swept lightning.
Laundry fluttered in the afternoon air
Painting a thousand butterflies of cloth
Dogs barked and the lawn was mowed
The weathered boards were merrily painted
A bright yellow, so bright
Sunflowers cringed and were shamed.
Roses burst apart beside the porch
To show their faces to the world.
People lived and loved here
And quickened the house with spirit
Voices sang songs of hope and despair
And hate and love and now.
The world was good in this place
Back before
Weeds and rats and time and memory
Claimed it for their own.

Meet Me In A Dream Of This Hard Land

I have taken down my previous post.

I try to be a person who doesn't throw gasoline onto raging fires. It's not professional.

So I've deleted it, but I will post this part of it here, because it is true:

Watching the sfwa community is like watching a 100 car banana train derail and roll down a hill in slow motion as it inexplicably bursts into flames and smashes on the rocks below only to be swallowed up by the rising tide.

If that community was suppose to help SFWA reach out to neo-pros and semi-pros and explain why they should join, it's done pretty much the opposite from where I'm sitting.

Enough said.

It's poetry month. Here you go:

Nobody lives here anymore
But once...
Children's voices flew through the yard
Like rain swept lightning.
Laundry fluttered in the afternoon air
Painting a thousand butterflies of cloth
Dogs barked and the lawn was mowed
The weathered boards were merrily painted
A bright yellow, so bright
Sunflowers cringed and were shamed.
Roses burst apart beside the porch
To show their faces to the world.
People lived and loved here
And quickened the house with spirit
Voices sang songs of hope and despair
And hate and love and now.
The world was good in this place
Back before
Weeds and rats and time and memory
Claimed it for their own.