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(Fark)   "The best author will be the one who is ashamed to become a writer." --Friedrich Nietzsche. Huh, if people read what I write and are embarrassed for me, does that count? This is your Fark Writer's Thread   ( fark.com) divider line
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74 clicks; posted to Discussion » on 08 Nov 2017 at 12:35 PM (10 days ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



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2017-11-08 11:56:10 AM  
Hey, my Scary Story on Halloween earned me this month of TotalFark! Thank you to the sponsor. I feel like a real writer now.

I'm still smarting over the failure of my screenplay in all these writing competitions. I have two other possibilities to pursue in selling it, but that means I should really take a crack at a major rewrite first. I've been beating my head out trying to figure out how to fix it, and yesterday I think I might have a little idea. It might only shave off 10 or 20 pages, but at least it's a start. Hopefully a new way of structuring the whole thing will come to me if I do this bit of repairs.

11,975 words so far on my NaNoWriMo novel. Writing this one is an interesting experience. It's science fiction, and so far it''s going okay. Better than expected. I have a loose outline that I'm feeling free to change at any time, but for the most part I'm going by the seat of my pants. I hope to be able to really work on it over the weekend and the Thanksgiving break.

Anyone else writing a NaNo project?
 
2017-11-08 12:13:30 PM  

thatguyoverthere70: Anyone else writing a NaNo project?


I had every intention of doing so but my day job got super demanding at just the wrong time.  I have however rededicated myself to setting aside time every day to write.  Hopefully things work out this time. :)
 
2017-11-08 12:42:13 PM  
how many alts can I have? Then I can write whatever I want, dammit.
I only have one here and I never use it. That would change if it was important. Not like Fark.
 
2017-11-08 01:14:51 PM  
I have 12577 in NaNoWriMo - hoping to finish this year. I get closer every year.

I have a murder mystery with just one problem, I haven't decided on who the REAL killer is. I think I know... but how to work it in :)
 
2017-11-08 01:41:56 PM  
All my free time is going towards grad school.

I guess the world will have to wait a few more years before being stunned by my literary brilliance.
 
2017-11-08 01:44:45 PM  
Yes, I am doing Nano with a rewrite of a character and scenario I love, but haven't gotten to work until now. Does Fark have a Nano group?
 
2017-11-08 02:13:15 PM  

thatguyoverthere70: Anyone else writing a NaNo project?


Are you kidding? I'm going on the 4th year on my novel.
 
2017-11-08 02:39:12 PM  
I'm planning on jumping on the train this long weekend. I had a bunch of social commitments the last week that made it difficult.

But because I'm writing the exploits of a campaign it'll be much easier than a new story whole cloth.

Does anyone have any good world building podcasts to recommend, I'm starting to listen to world builders anvil but I don't have anymore.
 
2017-11-08 02:58:14 PM  
thatguyoverthere70:
Anyone else writing a NaNo project?

I'm a little under the curve so far on my project. I usually don't start until the 1st weekend, and I keep trying to get school work out of the way, but things keep getting in the way of it.

The Fark group is here:
https://nanowrimo.org/forums/writing-​g​roups-and-clubs/threads/419433

I'm writing a sci-fi. I don't have much outline or plot, but it seems to be chugging away so far. I'm pleasantly surprised so far what my characters have started to do, so it'll be fun to follow them on this journey. It's also very rainy lately here in the PNW, so I'm hoping it'll make for some cozy writing nights this week.
 
2017-11-08 04:06:02 PM  
I wrote a book. When I was done, it took me a while to realize I already had a book. Not just 109 pages in one, but fragments of books all strewn along throughout different journals.

Just need to edit and put together, and fill in the parts that need to be filled in.

but there's only one problem. I don't think anyone would want to read it. Or if they did, they would think less of me or do me harm. I thought it might be something like "A Child Called It" when I saw what I had written, and then got very depressed because that author wrote from the place of being in a better place..being surrounded by family that loves him and a support system...I have none of that.

and I wanted to write my story from that place..where I had gotten my farking happy ending to write it from.

but there's no such thing as soul mates. people do live and die alone.

and I don't feel llike writing for people that will judge me and find me wanting.
 
2017-11-08 04:25:07 PM  
Hallelujah, brothers and sisters, I am sick! Factor guaifenesin and dextromethorphan into any advice given this week. Not doing NaNoWriMo, I don't function too well on a deadline like that.

(Hmm. Dextromethorphan has "meth" and an "orphan" in it. Funny.)

I did a little bit more on the guy with the crippling social anxiety blowing up his relationship out of fear, but due to circumstances, I haven't been burning up the word count. I should really get into either the guy with the clinical depression and the kid with the metal eye going to the movies (since that's next chronologically) or the kid with the metal eye turning into a bird and having to chug a whole bottle of absinthe (since that's the one my S/O wants to see). In this week's installment of the web serial that nobody (barring said S/O and one friend) reads, the guy with the clinical depression has been gifted a violin and there are implications and then chocolate cake. (Link to New Readers Page which has a summary.)

What do you guys do about advertising? Seriously. I can't seem to get anyone to pick me up. It's not a bad story, but it is essentially a wall of text divided into installments and I guess that's a little off-putting, maybe? I dunno. Maybe people just prefer blogs about fashion and current movies? Or politics? I'd pick up more readers if I were posting about how Donald Trump is similar to the Shadow Monster from Stranger Things in a five item list with stock photos, wouldn't I?
 
2017-11-08 04:30:33 PM  
Would you write at all if you knew that your pain that you wrote about was not being read by anyone supportive or empathetic, but solely by sadists who were enjoying reading about all the suffering you have gone through?

I wouldn't.
 
2017-11-08 04:51:21 PM  

Kirablue42: I wrote a book. When I was done, it took me a while to realize I already had a book. Not just 109 pages in one, but fragments of books all strewn along throughout different journals.

Just need to edit and put together, and fill in the parts that need to be filled in.

but there's only one problem. I don't think anyone would want to read it. Or if they did, they would think less of me or do me harm. I thought it might be something like "A Child Called It" when I saw what I had written, and then got very depressed because that author wrote from the place of being in a better place..being surrounded by family that loves him and a support system...I have none of that.

and I wanted to write my story from that place..where I had gotten my farking happy ending to write it from.

but there's no such thing as soul mates. people do live and die alone.

and I don't feel llike writing for people that will judge me and find me wanting.


I think there might be such a thing as soul mates, but that's not the discussion you want to have. I am a survivor of a fairly hideous childhood (but nothing CPS would have done anything about... luckily? Is that luck?), and I don't know if you'd say I have a happy ending. I've got one really great person... and a lot of baggage. Physical and mental. But, there aren't happy endings. If you're familiar with The Sandman, all stories end in death. If you want to have a happy ending, you have to know where to cut it off to make it seem like there is one. I don't think a happy ending is necessarily required, nor are readers. You must write, first and foremost, to please yourself. (Of course, that may not get you attention, and if you're like me you have a pathological need for attention and approval that is rooted in the hideous childhood, but that is also another discussion.)

It sounds like you may be coping with some serious stuff right now. Writing can help, hopes of publishment be damned. Reaching out to another human being can also help... although that is really hard and really scary and I understand if you'd rather just be anonymous on the internet and protect yourself from rejection. There might be some forums, if you want to go that route, or there is here... but 'here' (the Writer's Thread) doesn't get a whole lot of traffic and people don't always engage. That's nothing to do with your own worth as a person, it's just a systemic thing where people would rather talk about themselves than each other.

You might not get a happy ending, but there is happiness out there. It can be found... And inevitably lost, but that doesn't take away the part where you were happy. And, while you're stuck on this planet with the rest of us, you still have the capacity to find more happiness. When that's over, I dunno what the hell you're going to get, so it's best to try now.
 
2017-11-08 05:07:49 PM  

Kirablue42: I don't feel llike writing for people that will judge me and find me wanting.

I'm not qualified to address what I feel are issues beyond what can be mitigated just by writing (it might help but it's probably not enough).  But as far as writing for others go, two things.  First, publication is not a validation of your writing.  Publishers publish based on demand, not quality, and you know what the market with the most demand is?  Smut.  Second place ain't even close, unless you split off romance but the boundary between the two is very blurry.  I want to get published some day, but I know full well it's probably going to be some panderstuff as opposed to the totally awesome epic ballad I wrote when I was high for a week.*  Second, you don't choose your audience.  You can try to target one, but many creative sorts throughout history have been shocked by a work's popularity, lack thereof, or even popular interpretation.  So don't presume how others will judge your writing.  Especially if no one's even read it.

*It didn't happen.  But just for example, if I did, it would be like. . . wow, dude.  Wow.
 
2017-11-08 05:25:38 PM  

dragonchild: Kirablue42: I don't feel llike writing for people that will judge me and find me wanting.
I'm not qualified to address what I feel are issues beyond what can be mitigated just by writing (it might help but it's probably not enough).  But as far as writing for others go, two things.  First, publication is not a validation of your writing.  Publishers publish based on demand, not quality, and you know what the market with the most demand is?  Smut.  Second place ain't even close, unless you split off romance but the boundary between the two is very blurry.  I want to get published some day, but I know full well it's probably going to be some panderstuff as opposed to the totally awesome epic ballad I wrote when I was high for a week.*  Second, you don't choose your audience.  You can try to target one, but many creative sorts throughout history have been shocked by a work's popularity, lack thereof, or even popular interpretation.  So don't presume how others will judge your writing.  Especially if no one's even read it.

*It didn't happen.  But just for example, if I did, it would be like. . . wow, dude.  Wow.


I don't have anyone at all to share it with. That's just it. Not even for personal reasons. The few times I have shared it with anyone I thought I could trust, the funny thing is, I hardly ever end up hearing from that person again, and they get out of my life quick. Could be coincidental, right?

it's okay. I won't bring down the thread anymore.

oh and 'happy ending'..or happy cutoff point for a book to end on a good note?

he farking godamn shows up. that's all. that's it. my soulmate shows up.
 
2017-11-08 05:46:45 PM  
Went to the Austin Film Fest despite not being fully recovered from Bronchitis and despite knowing I wouldn't have a job when I got back (not the conference's fault - temp job just wrapped up sooner than expected).  Still, I made some new writer friends, took a lot of (hopefully legible) notes, and just generally reconnected to the writer tribe.  (It's not that I'm odd, it's more like I'm normal for a very small subset of normal.  Every once in a while, I need to hang out with my normal to be reminded of that.)

I'm torn now between looking for new work (only good jobs seem to involve a 2-hour commute, which would take away a lot of my writing time and a lot of earnings from my side gig) and waiting on a position with a company I had a good interview with but for a job that was above my level (I hadn't known 'lead' in their parlance meant 'manager,' not just 'person with +7 years of experience').  The HR rep told me my experience made me a great fit for the department, just not that position, but that she was expecting more openings 'soon.'

I know 'soon' is a flimsy thing to make career choices around, but it's a 15 min commute, I've worked there before and liked the atmosphere, and I have a friend there who's rooting for me and sending me internal job postings.  I know I can afford to wait a bit, but I grew up in an environment where jobs could be scarce.  I've also had a rough year and the idea of just getting things settled is mighty tempting.  Still, I'm currently fighting the good fight:  Writing, doing more side-gig work, and hoping to sort things out soon enough.

Had a 'fark this' moment of finally getting to a scene I'd been playing around with in my head for weeks only to have it suck.  However, I realized yesterday it's because a character was missing.  Leads are just getting to the point where they trust each other, so I needed to bring in someone to keep the story/lead poked with the stick of conflict.  Rewriting it now and it's much more engaging.

/no, I can't just move closer to the 60 min away job
//my partner's job is 45 min in the other direction
 
2017-11-08 05:47:01 PM  
I've been working on the still-nameless Charlie Royce story.

*****
I got lucky, I guess. Ended up working for a loan shark named Jimmy Santiago. If someone tried to weasel out of paying Jimmy, I'd show up at their door and explain things to 'em. Almost never had to touch anyone. I'd just tell 'em that Jimmy expected 'em to keep their word, and as long as they kept their word to Jimmy, they'd never see me again. Most folks called Jimmy right after I'd left and made new arrangements. A couple of people tried to push back. I didn't like it much, but I put the ones who pushed back in the hospital. It was steady work, and paid enough to keep me in a rathole apartment off San Pedro street and enough left over for a girl and a beer every now and then.

Then one night somebody splattered Jimmy all over the walls of his office.

First I heard of it was when I got off the bus and walked around the corner to go to work and saw a Black Maria parked on the sidewalk and a ambulance right next to it. A good sized crowd was pretty much blockin' the street, so I joined 'em and kept my ears open. Once I heard Jimmy was dead, I walked another block down to the dive run by Sam Jiminez and got a beer while I thought things through.

Sam's place mostly catered to Mexicans, but I was a regular. Sam didn't care about anything but the color of a man's money, and I never gave a crap about Mexicans or Coloreds- or anybody but Nips, really. No one ever gave me any trouble at Sam's, and Sam even paid me to run out some 'specially rowdy customers a couple of times. I figured the crowd would break up once the uniforms were done, then I'd see about getting my pay for the last week. I was working on my fourth beer when I heard the ambulance leave.  I got up to take a piss and shot a glance out the front window as I walked by on the way to the latrine. There was a couple of Blues asking questions out on the sidewalk, but probably not getting much. They wouldn't hang around long. Sure enough, they were pulling out in the Black Maria when I came back into the bar.

Sam didn't like customers going back of the bar- unless they paid for the privilege, so I left an extra dollar on the bar and slipped out the back of Sam's place. It was gettin' dark, especially in the alley back of Sam's, where the streetlights don't reach. While I waited for my eyes to adjust, I tried thinking out how to get into the office without anyone noticing. Jimmy kept his ready cash and a couple of guns under the rusted tub in the office bathroom. Jimmy hadn't known I knew about it, and the Cops probably didn't find the stash during their less-than-thorough investigation. Everyone knew Jimmy was a loan shark, and the Blues probably weren't particularly interested in finding out who topped him. They was just going through the motions, from what I'd seen in the street.

Once my eyes got used to the dark, I slipped down the alleys until I ended up on Bay street, one block west behind Jimmy's office. There was a little Mexican diner two doors down on the other side of the street where I ate sometimes, so I walked down the street to the diner and had some chow. Martin, the oldest boy in the family, was working the grill, so not many regulars would be in at that hour. He worked hard, but he couldn't cook worth a damn, so his dad usually ran the till and had Martin cook when it was slack time in the diner.

After I got outside of some pretty bad Mex food and worse coffee, I left the diner and walked down the sidewalk until I could slip into the alley behind the buildings where the businesses dumped their garbage. It was still warm after a hot day, so the smell would probably have gagged most folks. Those who hadn't crawled through worse-smelling swamps while Nips were shooting at you, anyways. There were rats and other critters that scampered away as I walked past, but besides them the alley was dark and deserted.

The back door to Jimmy's office was locked, but that didn't slow me down much. I jimmied the lock in a couple of seconds with the blade of my pocketknife and slipped inside, pulling the door almost shut behind me.

The smell hit me almost at once- the sharp, bitter stink of blood and death. In the dark, with the heat and that stench in my nose, for a minute I was back in the jungle. I froze, my heart hammering in my chest and my breathing fast and shallow. Then I got ahold of myself and worked my way down the little hall until I felt the door to the bathroom under my hand. I grabbed the knob and pulled up a bit before pushing it slowly in, so the hinges wouldn't creak. There was a bit of light coming in from the streetlights through the tiny window over the toilet. I could see where the Blues had pulled the cupboard under the sink apart, but the rusty old iron tub looked like it hadn't been touched since the office had been a bungalow before the War.

I moved real slow, trying to avoid making too much noise. The tub was heavy, but I didn't need to lift the whole thing. I grabbed the tub edge where it met the wall and levered it toward me. This made a bit of noise, but I hoped it wasn't noticed outside the building. Stepping over the tub, I pulled out my pocketknife and slipped the big blade through the crack in the floorboard by the wall. With a slight creak, the floorboards lifted. I set 'em aside and felt around in the hole they left. My fingers found what felt like a rifle, several bundles of cash, and the cigar box where Jimmy kept his .45.

As quickly and quietly as possible, I stuffed the cash into my coat pockets, then I grabbed the rifle and the cigar box. I didn't bother putting the floorboards and tub back, I just moved very carefully to the door and opened it like I done before. The dim light from the window showed me the long gun was actually a pump shotgun. I decided to hold it under my coat with one arm and carry the cigar box with the other. I had just stepped out into the narrow hall when I heard the slight scrape of a shoe on the floor in the office to my left.

I froze, straining my ears while my heart started running a hundred miles an hour. I had about convinced myself it was just imagination when I heard it again, slightly closer. The door at the end of the hallway had a thin line of light at the bottom from the streetlights through the front windows, and there were a couple of shadows visible. Someone was in the office, trying really hard to be quiet. Probably had the same idea I had about cleaning the place out.

Everything depended on me being quieter than the other visitors, so I eased down the hall toward the alley door slow. Every step was painfully careful, touching the floor with each foot before putting weight on it, then slowly repeating the process with the other foot. Felt like it took hours, but was probably no more than a couple of minutes before I reached the alley door and could relax a bit. I eased the door open and slipped out, then quietly moved down the alley the way I'd come in.

Once I was back under the streetlights on Bay street, I checked my wristwatch. It was still a bit shy of nine o'clock, meaning there was almost no chance of catching the last bus. I walked down Bay until I got to Alameda, then hailed a cab. I handed the cabbie a five and told him to drop me off at the hospital. Once he'd left, I walked around the block and hailed a different cab.

In the cab, I handed a sawbuck to the driver and told him to take me to the Shay Hotel in Santa Monica. The Blues would probably be looking for me, to ask stupid questions about Jimmy's business. They'd probably try to fit me in the frame for the killing, too, so going back to my apartment was out for the moment. I sat and thought a bit during the fifteen minute ride, but didn't come up with anything useful before the cab groaned to a stop in front of the Shay.

Ever meet someone who looks like they might've been something impressive once, but now they're all crippled with age and hard living? That's what the Shay looked like. The hotel had once been a decent place in a modest area, but the neighborhood had changed after the War, and the hotel hadn't weathered the changes well. There were several working girls clustered around the front entrance, with thousand-year-old eyes in twenty-year-old bodies. Their manager, a whipcord-thin Wop named Giuseppe, was holding court on the steps leading up to the doors with a couple of merchant sailors. Giuseppe was smiling too much and almost vibrating in place as he made his pitch, so he'd probably been dipping into the junk he gives his girls to keep them on the hook. I brushed past the lot without making eye contact, and managed to get inside without feeling the need to scrub my skin with lye soap and a wire brush.

I'd stayed at the Shay when I first got to LA. You could rent by the week, the rooms had their own toilets and showers, and you could come and go as you pleased without anyone getting into your business. On the other hand, I'd had to beat up a couple of kids who broke into my room one night while I was asleep. Not too long after, I started working for Jimmy, and moved to an apartment closer to work.

The guy at the front desk was a overweight lump of cigarette smoke, sour bourbon, and indifference. He was their regular night man, but I'd never bothered learning his name.The top buttons on his shirt were open, showing off a bunch of wiry hair sticking out through a grimy undershirt. He was mostly bald, but carefully arranged a few long hairs across his dome to hide it. He looked like he only shaved every other day, and the last time he'd forgot to do it. He was busy picking his nose with a finger too fat to do the job as I walked in. He wiped his finger off on his shirt as I stopped in front of the counter and dropped a sawbuck on the desk.

"Gimme a room," I said. "Number 24, if it's open." That was the room I'd stayed in before. I liked it 'cause it was close to both front and back stairs.

Counterman made a show of looking me over, then turned around and grabbed a key out of the mail cubbyhole for #24. "How long you plannin' to stay?" he asked.

"Until I leave."

He coughed out a weak laugh and tossed the key onto the desk. "No phone inna rooms," he grunted. "You wanna make a call, you gotta use the pay phone here in the lobby. I'll send Herb up with a fresh blanket an' sheets when he gets back from his dinner. What's the name I'm puttin' the room under?"

"Bob Johnson," I said. "Reckon you got enough 'Smiths' stayin' here already."

He chuckled. "Not so much staying here as renting a room for a couple of hours. You gonna be wanting company? Got some girls outside."

"I'll pass until I get a powerful hankering for my dick to rot off." I didn't have nothing against working girls, but the hopped-up whores at the Shay weren't my type- not even when I was desperate.

"Suit yourself." He went back to his nose picking.

I grabbed the key and went upstairs. About forty feet along the second floor hallway was my room. The rooms closest to the front stairs all had people in 'em- or maybe pigs, going by the noises they were making. The room was just as much a dump as I remembered. The whole thing was lit by a bare bulb hanging in the center of the ceiling. It was about fifteen feet square, with a rickety wooden table and two chairs left of the door and the lumpy bed under the window opposite the door. The water closet was on the right. I took the shotgun out from under my coat and set it on the table with the cigar box, then took off my coat and emptied the pockets and sat down to see how much cash I had. There were twenty bundles of mixed twenties and fifties, and four bundles of hundreds. I finished counting and shook my head. I had just under ten thousand dollars sitting on the table.

I re-wrapped the cash and dumped it all in a pile on my coat, then tied up the coat around the bundle and tossed it on the bed. The shotgun was a Remington, cut short to fit under a raincoat, and there were four shells loaded. In the cigar box was a well-maintained Colt automatic, two magazines full of shells, and a dozen loose shells for the shotgun. I loaded the Colt, leaving it and the extra clip on the table, then slid the shotgun and cigar box under the mattress.

There was a knock at the door about then. I tucked the pistol into the back of my waistband and slipped the extra magazine into the back pocket of my pants before answering.

"Who is it?"

"Gocher bedding, mister." The voice sounded like the static you'd hear on a cheap radio. I opened the door and took a thin blanket and a couple of threadbare sheets from the older colored guy standing in the hallway.

"Thanks," I said. I tossed the bedding onto the mattress, then dug a dollar out of my pocket and handed it to him. "Your name's Herb, right?"

"That's right, mister." He grinned, showing a bunch of missing teeth. He was about as tall as me if he'd been standing up straight, wearing suspenders over an ironed blue shirt which hung on his skinny frame like a tent. "You need anything, you just ask. Ground floor, by the back stairs, room 19."

"Right now, I need a duffle bag," I said. "Where can I get one tonight?"

Herb scratched his head for a minute and thought it over. His hand was crabbed up with age, so he couldn't open his fingers all the way. "Y'know, I reckon we might have one in the basement," he said, nodding. "Got a lotta stuff got left behind by folks over the years."

That's what I'd been hoping for. "That's swell, Herb," I dug a fin out of my pocket and gave it to him. "If there's a satchel or a suitcase down there, bring that up, too."

He grabbed the five and chuckled happily. "You got it mister. Be back in a minute."
*****
 
2017-11-08 05:53:11 PM  

Kirablue42: it's okay. I won't bring down the thread anymore.


Please don't disengage just because you think we might judge you poorly. Sometimes it can help to get some distance, and it's hard to talk about things when everything hurts, and if that's the case then maybe you do need time before you bring other people into it, but don't leave off just because you fear the throwing of rotten fruit. That hasn't happened yet.

Kirablue42: I don't have anyone at all to share it with. That's just it. Not even for personal reasons. The few times I have shared it with anyone I thought I could trust, the funny thing is, I hardly ever end up hearing from that person again, and they get out of my life quick. Could be coincidental, right?


It doesn't have to be the writing or the pain that made people abandon you. It could be that. People aren't always brave or perfect or even good. I would want to stop reaching out if every time I did it I got slapped, if the only attention I ever got was negative (I sort of have stopped reaching out, I will admit). But you have left something here and people are willing to talk to you about it. That's a modicum of support, even if it's just for the day or the length of the thread. Positive human interaction is not impossible, just difficult. If you left some writing here, it would probably get read... although not everything gets commented on because we don't have a lot of people doing that at any given time.

And I don't know if you want technical advice so much as validation about the experiences, in which case a support group might be a better outlet. You could feasibly clean up your writing and employ devices and emotional manipulation to the point where it makes a person sob uncontrollably in sympathy and want to buy a million copies, but that wouldn't be the same as having someone to talk to and understand.

Kirablue42: oh and 'happy ending'..or happy cutoff point for a book to end on a good note?

he farking godamn shows up. that's all. that's it. my soulmate shows up.


So I'm guessing the point in the plotline we have arrived at now is that he has gone?
 
2017-11-08 05:54:08 PM  
I was at a game design convention this weekend, Metatopia 2017;my modern medical drama role-playing game was printed, packed, shipped... and delayed... and promised to be delivered Monday morning, right after the con.  *sigh*. Veteran designers welcomed me to the Big Kids' Table.  (It'll debut at PAX Unplugged now... but I won't be there.)

That did give me time to focus group my other two game projects:

SemiGods was well received: a role-playing game of rivalry and responsibility as minor gods attempt to secure their place in legends.

But the big hit was Princess World - A game about girls that rule.  Great feedback, faced a panel entirely of women and I got heaps of encouragement to write this game which is actually a love letter to my young daughter who actually inspired the whole thing.

More to come!
 
2017-11-08 05:54:27 PM  

Kirablue42: The few times I have shared it with anyone I thought I could trust, the funny thing is, I hardly ever end up hearing from that person again, and they get out of my life quick. Could be coincidental, right? it's okay. I won't bring down the thread anymore.

I don't see anyone indicting you for "bringing down the thread"; I just gotta be honest about my limitations.  This is a writers' thread, and I don't mean that as a "GTFO we're purists" rebuke, but just that, I think this is less about writing and more about things we're not qualified to give advice on.  If you have a piece of writing you can't or won't share, please don't feel any pressure to either share it or withhold it.  But if we can't see it, what can we say?  Whatever you do, you're probably making the right choice, as long as you're writing for your own reasons.  Just, writing that doesn't have an audience doesn't say one thing or another about its inherent qualities.  The best-selling book of the last decade is 50 Shades of Grey, so take that as an indicator of what popular approval is worth.

I'd like to be more helpful than that, but I think it would be a betrayal of sorts if I pretended I was.  Sorry.
 
2017-11-08 05:58:41 PM  

K.B.O. Winston: /no, I can't just move closer to the 60 min away job
//my partner's job is 45 min in the other direction


Best of luck to you on the job search, and glad that the Austin Fest went well!
 
2017-11-08 06:22:47 PM  
It's not that he was gone. It's just that right now he is only in my heart.
 
2017-11-08 10:11:46 PM  
A few things.
First, typing a little faster this week - rehabbing mangled fingers takes time.

Second, nobody's mentioned Pronoun's closure, so that means I have to.
Pronoun was great because it was free, and they were really great because they negotiated getting 70% to the author for even the $0.99 book pricing, but that also meant they really didn't have a business model. Macmillian bought them but rumor has it just to get the data. So, the shutdown wasn't obvious until the announcement.

Next, I'm connected to people who know things in the trad pub'ing area, and the trad pubs are taking it on the chin lately. The advice to writers hasn't changed, tho. Write like the wind.
AMS and FB ad effectiveness keeps dropping.
The Kindle Unlimited scammers really cleaned up($$ wise), and AMZ went after them (finally!) - but in so doing, swept up legit authors who'd spent decent money on Bookbub ads and stripped them of sales rank.
AMZ has played with all manner of things(in chasing of the fake sales/page reads), so legit sales, page reads and reviews have been removed for some legit folks. AMZ is still screwed up.
 
2017-11-08 10:21:45 PM  

Wenchmaster: I've been working on the still-nameless Charlie Royce story.


It is hard for me to keep plotline in brain from week to week (especially with cold medicine on board) but it looks like some kind of plan is being employed! 'Unspoken plan guarantee' is in play. It's weird how there seems to be NO way to explain what the plan is and then have it come off as intended. That would mean saying the same thing twice, and you can't do that, so in order for the plan to work, NO ONE MUST KNOW! Or, at least, the reader must not. Contrary to actual good planning in real life which requires that you share with people so they know what the heck is going on.

Kirablue42: It's not that he was gone. It's just that right now he is only in my heart.


...Which hurts a whole heck of a lot. I'm sorry. I mean, if you do pick up writing and decide to show people, that sort of pain can really help you. Compelling characters, plot points, emotion. Painful experience goes in the bank and you can recall it later when you need help with writing painful stuff. But that isn't much comfort when the painful experience is ongoing and you're still raw.

It sucks. Cry and be hurt and be mad and whatever you need to be. That's the only way to get through it. That's the best advice I can give.
 
2017-11-08 10:44:27 PM  
Great. NaNoWriMo's website changed the dashboard. It no longer seems to track the novel progress the way it did. What's up with that?
 
2017-11-09 12:25:00 AM  
Hooray for the topic of failure.  I have come up with a multitude of fan fic ideas and have written almost a dozen stories that are in various stages of completion because every single one of them reuses to be finished. The latest one somehow became a 4,100-word monstrosity.  Okay, well, that's a monstrosity for me.  But I came up with the idea spontaneously and just abruptly sat down and wrote for hours, the words just pouring out, and it was glorious.  And like every single story I've done, I get to a point where it just will. not. happen.

I'm on the last f**king scene; a few goddamn paragraphs and it could actually be PUBLISHED.  But f**king NO.  I cannot tear the words from my skull.  I mean, I wrote an ending in the first draft.  It has an ending.  I can't revise it.  I keep changing the wording over and over and over and over.  Write some sentences, space space space space.  Try a different approach.  Space space space space.  Nothing sounds right.  Drawing a complete blank on a hundred words or less.

So goddamn infuriated.  Why is one f**king complete story too much to ask from my stupid brain.

I hate writing.  I wish I could quit you, writing.  >:(
 
2017-11-09 01:14:42 AM  

PleaseHamletDon'tHurtEm: Hooray for the topic of failure.  I have come up with a multitude of fan fic ideas and have written almost a dozen stories that are in various stages of completion because every single one of them reuses to be finished. The latest one somehow became a 4,100-word monstrosity.  Okay, well, that's a monstrosity for me.  But I came up with the idea spontaneously and just abruptly sat down and wrote for hours, the words just pouring out, and it was glorious.  And like every single story I've done, I get to a point where it just will. not. happen.

I'm on the last f**king scene; a few goddamn paragraphs and it could actually be PUBLISHED.  But f**king NO.  I cannot tear the words from my skull.  I mean, I wrote an ending in the first draft.  It has an ending.  I can't revise it.  I keep changing the wording over and over and over and over.  Write some sentences, space space space space.  Try a different approach.  Space space space space.  Nothing sounds right.  Drawing a complete blank on a hundred words or less.

So goddamn infuriated.  Why is one f**king complete story too much to ask from my stupid brain.

I hate writing.  I wish I could quit you, writing.  >:(


Sounds like you may be smashing your head against a psychological block, there. Every time you fail, you're reinforcing it. Usually the way to get through that sort of thing is to quit taking it head on and find away around... Have you considered writing an ending first? Then going back to connect it up? Not WAY in the future like J. K. Rowling did Harry Potter, just the end of something short, like a ten-page idea? Or, hell, even a two-page one, just so you can say you've slain the dragon at least once?

But, yes, a lot of us wish we could quit writing. It is a sadomasochistic sickness. And every morning you wake up and have a look at the bruises and you go, "Yep. Worth it. Let's do it more."
 
2017-11-09 03:18:56 AM  

DoBeDoBeLurk: PleaseHamletDon'tHurtEm: Hooray for the topic of failure.  I have come up with a multitude of fan fic ideas and have written almost a dozen stories that are in various stages of completion because every single one of them reuses to be finished. The latest one somehow became a 4,100-word monstrosity.  Okay, well, that's a monstrosity for me.  But I came up with the idea spontaneously and just abruptly sat down and wrote for hours, the words just pouring out, and it was glorious.  And like every single story I've done, I get to a point where it just will. not. happen.

I'm on the last f**king scene; a few goddamn paragraphs and it could actually be PUBLISHED.  But f**king NO.  I cannot tear the words from my skull.  I mean, I wrote an ending in the first draft.  It has an ending.  I can't revise it.  I keep changing the wording over and over and over and over.  Write some sentences, space space space space.  Try a different approach.  Space space space space.  Nothing sounds right.  Drawing a complete blank on a hundred words or less.

So goddamn infuriated.  Why is one f**king complete story too much to ask from my stupid brain.

I hate writing.  I wish I could quit you, writing.  >:(

Sounds like you may be smashing your head against a psychological block, there. Every time you fail, you're reinforcing it. Usually the way to get through that sort of thing is to quit taking it head on and find away around... Have you considered writing an ending first? Then going back to connect it up? Not WAY in the future like J. K. Rowling did Harry Potter, just the end of something short, like a ten-page idea? Or, hell, even a two-page one, just so you can say you've slain the dragon at least once?

But, yes, a lot of us wish we could quit writing. It is a sadomasochistic sickness. And every morning you wake up and have a look at the bruises and you go, "Yep. Worth it. Let's do it more."


Well, yes, but some of these stories I've beat my head against, over and over.  How long do I keep smashing my face against it?  After a week straight on the last one I nearly went out of my mind. :(

And the story does have its ending.  It's just...there are words there, but they don't sound good.  I can look at a sentence I barfed onto the page in first draft and know it doesn't sound right, and I might not have any idea how to fix it, but I know when it does work.  Just, getting there is a huge part of the battle.

Blaaaah.

Sometimes a change of scenery helps get ideas churning...maybe will try that.
 
2017-11-09 08:55:15 AM  
Failure is an interesting topic, mainly because while (almost) everyone can relate to it, no one likes to admit to it, even to themselves. There's that guy who gets fired but rides the train every morning as usual and then goes to the park so his wife doesn't know he's been fired until the unpaid bills start rolling in. A fantastic essay on failure - by a fine writer, so there's good things to be found on writing, too - is "The Music of Failure" in the book with the same title by Bill Holm (the original cover was much better...).
 
2017-11-09 09:09:45 AM  

ChromaticKid: I was at a game design convention this weekend, Metatopia 2017;my modern medical drama role-playing game was printed, packed, shipped... and delayed... and promised to be delivered Monday morning, right after the con.  *sigh*. Veteran designers welcomed me to the Big Kids' Table.  (It'll debut at PAX Unplugged now... but I won't be there.)

That did give me time to focus group my other two game projects:

SemiGods was well received: a role-playing game of rivalry and responsibility as minor gods attempt to secure their place in legends.

But the big hit was Princess World - A game about girls that rule.  Great feedback, faced a panel entirely of women and I got heaps of encouragement to write this game which is actually a love letter to my young daughter who actually inspired the whole thing.

More to come!


Oh! Here is my illustrator and layout friend's website: kittenbuttpress.squarespace.​com

I send you an e-mail with her e-mail in a bit.
 
2017-11-09 09:25:36 AM  
kittenbuttpress?  Seriously?
 
2017-11-09 10:07:19 AM  

dragonchild: kittenbuttpress?  Seriously?


So? She is an awesome designer and loves cats.

I call one of my cats "kitten-butt" all the time because she loves bum-pats.
 
2017-11-09 10:51:38 AM  
Ah, press as in "printing press".  OK then.  One of our cats likes to press his face into other cats' butts (whatshisfarkhandle), which gives the name a different meaning. . .
 
2017-11-09 05:21:30 PM  
shortymac:

Thanks so much for that SM!
 
2017-11-09 09:27:32 PM  
I am NaNoWriMo'ing away and surprisingly close to being on pace. I have several serious ideas for novels that I have tried to use NaNoWriMo to jump start over the years with no success. I was going to try it again this year and was starting to organize a time line when I found out I was going to have a huge project the first couple, three weeks of November. So I switched from a serious one to a "I don't give a fark how good or bad this ends up being," and it's been fantastic. The writing has just flowed, and it's been fun. The story itself is a mashup of a couple story ideas I've had for years, and it'll be interesting to see how they resolve themselves.
 
2017-11-09 10:02:42 PM  

Kirablue42: I wrote a book. When I was done, it took me a while to realize I already had a book. Not just 109 pages in one, but fragments of books all strewn along throughout different journals.

Just need to edit and put together, and fill in the parts that need to be filled in.

but there's only one problem. I don't think anyone would want to read it. Or if they did, they would think less of me or do me harm. I thought it might be something like "A Child Called It" when I saw what I had written, and then got very depressed because that author wrote from the place of being in a better place..being surrounded by family that loves him and a support system...I have none of that.

and I wanted to write my story from that place..where I had gotten my farking happy ending to write it from.

but there's no such thing as soul mates. people do live and die alone.

and I don't feel llike writing for people that will judge me and find me wanting.


There is a lot of emotion here, and I hope I can do it justice. I haven't personally read A Child Called It but I'm familiar with how severe the child abuse in it is, and it sounds like your story is similar. I am very sorry if it is. I have close friends who have endured horrific abuses, with some recovering more than others. Through some of the legal work I have done in the past I have worked directly with children, teens, and adults who have only just escaped their situations, so I have no doubts about how powerful your writings must be, especially coming from multiple journals. I saw below where you talked of people abandoning you after you shared your story, and I've seen that too. It's been my experience from hearing all of the stories that I have, that survivors often have a higher emotional capacity for awfulness (for lack of a better term) than most others, because they have endured realities that others can't bring themselves to even think about. What I'm poorly trying to say, is that the problem is theirs, not yours, even though you're the one who feels the hurt.

I am also assuming that the journals you write, and/or wrote, were done for you and not with a specific goal of publishing. I applaud you for that, I could never journal myself, and being so honest in something so permanent is still too often beyond me. It's also because of the stories I've heard from others professionally and personally that I don't have the capacity to read it too, otherwise I would happily volunteer.

As far as seeking publication, I think there's more to it than being judged, or not being in a better place before releasing it. There are far, far more people who have suffered abuse than we as a society are willing to admit. A lot of of them continue to suffer in silence, often because they feel like they're alone, so reading someone else's experiences can be incredibly empowering. And, frankly, that's the actual audience who would read it since any would be detractors wouldn't even go to the effort, since that's the kind of person who's a shiatheel to survivors of abuse. But I've found that for so many of those suffering, they struggle to put their experiences into words, and that gives those memories even more power. Sharing what you have been able to capture could also give them a voice to their own demons too, and that would be awesome.

I'm sorry for the wall of text and hope this all makes sense. I'm writing on mobile and this ended up being more stream of conscious than I had planned. Take care, and I wish you the best.
 
2017-11-09 11:45:34 PM  

D_PaulAngel: There is a lot of emotion here, and I hope I can do it justice...


You're right about all that, I think. This seems to be sort of an acute situation, and it may be hard to take writing advice at the moment, but maybe when there is less pain, telling the story would be worth risking more pain. Stories deserve to be told, and people deserve to be understood.

PleaseHamletDon'tHurtEm: Well, yes, but some of these stories I've beat my head against, over and over.  How long do I keep smashing my face against it?  After a week straight on the last one I nearly went out of my mind. :(


Dear Lord, no. Not the same stories. To repeat the same action over and over and expect a different result is madness. Try doing another thing, or looking at the problem another way. If writing the ending first and going back to the beginning doesn't appeal, you could always go all Memento and write the whole thing backwards, or try anachronic order. But the thing is, you see to have a bugaboo about finishing. If you hit it head on, you're attacking the wall where it's strongest. Look up, look down, look to the side. Is there a way around?
 
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