Some say “Last Cow Jack” was just another boyish face in a police lineup, but I once saw him trade his whole family for three chickpeas. Jack had never forgiven his mother for giving birth to him. He said later he wanted to hold out for some Garbanzos but they wouldn’t let him use words that big.
Having never been a fan of heights, he opted for the sawmill approach when the leguminous Petronas presented itself. Down came some poultry that worked for Fort Knox, the first autoharp ever to live up to its name, and the Big Guy with the rhymes. Big Guy took it pretty hard, having barely been introduced to the ground before they were forced to spend quality time together.
Jack wasn’t too cozy with the pocket protector crowd after that, having taken out the world’s first space tower with a 50cc Black and Decker. The eggs turned out to be electroplated, and the harp only knew Wagner pieces with racist undertones. But Jack turned the crater from the Big Guy’s high-speed dirt nap into a wave pool, and now the village’s tourism industry offsets the sales tax. Everybody and their dog is staying gluten-free, which means beans with every meal, but Jack’s harvest will probably outlast the iPhone 7.
Well, we’ve pulled a hat trick on the inspection of our new house. That’s right, we got the mold, the asbestos and the termites!
Oh – and the ancient, defective wiring, corroded plumbing, removed structural members, failing roof, numerous broken and missing window panes, collapsing garage wall…
But it’s in a nice location!
Have I been spending more time writing these than writing my novel? No, but the priorities have gotten a little skewed. I’m curtailing efforts in blogoland so that I can keep focus where it belongs. I’m still enjoying my novel, although I’m seriously going to try another soon, this time with real plotting beforehand. The pros of pantsing are the off-the-cuff absurdities that can sometimes bring a real life feel to the story. The cons are – everything else? I kid. And I’ve hit on this topic often enough already. Obviously, it’s on my mind. But I feel like if I’m going to understand the comparative benefits realistically, I have to give plotting a try. I’m thinking it might be more enjoyable in many ways, as I’m not second-guessing my knee-jerk creations throughout the entire work.
Well, Thanksgiving, Christmas, moving house, and maybe a little sleep are calling me. So long, kemosabes!
So I pined to scribe another curtailed post today, and surmised that I would issue with this conception, the relative equivalent essay! Let me notify you, it is demanding to not finger more severe equivalents. But I’m administering this as an operation, a souvenir if you will, as to how considerable it is to crave your terms gingerly.
Well, that’s about all I can undergo of that. Just lettering this laconic iota has eaten one third of an hour!
Corral ya on the twist-face!
I’m really not planning on a long post tonight, folks!
Tonight was fun. I’ve been dreading my next step, where John meets the Big Boss of this underground cadre (remember, the mole clan? Remember all those bad jokes? I ran out of ’em – oh, except to say that they’re really a ragtag bunch of chemists who – like measuring things? See why I didn’t use that one?). Was it going to be one guy? A group? A collective consciousness entity, channeled into an AI unit for the best of all possible intelligence within the group? Nah, too easy. So I just plugged in and let it rip. It ends up being a sort of hologram, formed by a pool of luminescent water that forms itself into a swirling column, and the figure inside is a four-legged, four-armed, four-headed composite of a male and female human, and (supposedly) a male and female alien.
So I got that goin for me, which is nice.
John Palmer is getting back at me. Maybe you can only put your characters through so much before you start to internalize. We’re just nearing the corner, John! You’re about to become part of something bigger, join a group of like-minded friends! I think so, anyway. No guarantees, of course.
Let’s just say I feel like broke down ass today, and have, off and on, for the past few. What’s weird is that it’ so inconsistent. I thought I was all fine, for the third time. But there’s no whining in the blogosphere, so I’m shutting up now.
Be awesome to each other.
Today I did NaNo during the weekly writing practice at the local Carnegie Center For Literacy and Learning. As my good friend Bronson mentioned in his blog post, I provided the “peer pressure” to get him to do his NaNo novel during this time as well. Not a whole lot happened with my piece, but I got some nice insight into what Bronson is doing with his story, and I’m intrigued. It’s going to be good, and I’m already picturing the end of this month where I snooker him into reading each other’s novels – and he has to read both parts of mine, 100,000 words, because that’s the way our agreement always works out, I make him read twice as much as what he gives me.
Well, this is kinda rambly, so I thought I’d totally call Bronson out. I’m thinking mashup. Bronson’s novel is about death, love, and another thing (betrayal?), with ghosts and (probably unrequited) love. My novel is pulp sci-fi, a vision of a corporate government that enslaves the populace with drugs to make them work, and sends them to secret prison camps when they get out of line.
But I can’t come up with anything better than the picture below, which I’m sure makes Bronson and me both happy, so – goodnight!