That Would be Telling

Hi guys. I guess it's winter, huh? That kind of snuck up on us since that mild Halloween where I was suffocating in the trench coat.

Anyway, I've been writing like crazy, yo. Ever since I came out of the authorial closet, as it were. Was that as jerkass a statement as I think it was? No time to edit, MOVING ON! Which kind of describes my actual writing style.

I really like my ideas. I like the spin I'm putting on my world, and I'm having a hell of a time creating the campy history. There are love affairs, crazy Russians, death rays, and secret societies in this world's history. The premise is that in such a campy, over-the-top world, a person who thinks normally should be able to avoid such camp pitfalls and actually accomplish their goals, e.g. actual world domination. But playing with the campy rules of the ridiculous world will inevitably turn even the sanest person into a caricature. Or something like that. That's loosely what it's about. Hopefully the word "camp" will still have meaning after I finish this blog entry.

I'm at an awful part of the book--about 30 pages in--where the inciting incident has already happened, but hasn't really started affecting him yet. So, he's just kind of bumming around waiting for the ax to fall, still thinking he's in complete control. It's boring to write, and going to be three times more boring to read, and I know I'll have to do serious damage control on this section. Well, I'll have to do serious damage control anyway since the entire story has been written as word vomit, where I just try to rip through as much as I can; rewrites will be a necessity. Mainly I've been telling and not showing, which is an easy pitfall when you write from a character's point of view. If you can hear their thoughts, how can they show and not tell? Not at all descriptive, but I figure I can come back to that kind of thing.

I guess I'm just getting frustrated, because I know what I've been writing hasn't been, um, good. I'm still optimistic, because what I'm writing now is an unfortunate necessity, which may be trimmed or disposed of later, provided I can figure out a better way to get from Point A to Point B. It's weird to be this excited about a story, but at the same time resentful of the actual output. Hopefully I can get my act together when I get to the really fun sections of the book, which I'm actually looking forward to writing. See, I haven't actually gotten to any of the campy characters yet. Those will be the most fun, I think.

Another big pitfall is I'm writing this as part of a planned series of books. The idea is far too large to be contained in one book, and the story has fallen into three different chunks. I'm trying very hard to have something actually happen in the first book. It's far more difficult than I originally thought it would be. Right now it's set up set up set up, which can be fun (when it comes to writing histories and stuff) but is mostly just annoying.

Anyway, that's where I am now. Frustration level and all. I still really want to write this bastard book, so I guess I'll just trudge through it.

Just thought I'd vent and write something in my voice rather than the voice of a egomaniacal, resentful yuppie genius, bent on global domination. Not that being in that head hasn't been fun and all...