Stan had made his first kill at a very young age. So young, in fact, you simply would not believe it. He was ancient by some standards, but infinitely far from decrepit. No, Stan had time ahead to do his work. Time and to spare.
His record spoke for itself. To those who looked at such things, the numbers of critical strikes against the enemy lay at the high end of five digits. In all his vast experience eradicating the evil that threatened peace and freedom the world over, there were no friendly-fire incidents to darken Stan’s sterling reputation, nor had he ever given his superiors cause to explain excessive collateral damages.
In short, Stan was the perfect soldier.
Why shouldn’t he be? It was, after all, what they had built him for.
The conundrum of thinking machines had seemed of such miniscule probability in the formative years of the Information Age that for years it did not exist outside quaint science-fictional prose. Those who followed technology saw potential, but most so-called experts scoffed.
“Gads,” some said in their dated and ridiculous way to their circles of sycophants and toadies as they gathered at their funding banquets and social galas, “it’s not as though such a thing is actually even possible, let alone probable. Sentient machines? Really! The very idea is absurd!”
In ever broadening ripples, no matter how they might wish to deny the truth, the beating of the butterfly wings of progress and change had grown into the wind that drives true innovation.
The people pushed envelopes and bent noses to grindstones. Boxes were constructed outside of which there was much thought. Trails blazed. Innocent bulls had their horns seized. In business meetings and planning sessions across the planet, slogans shouted progress. Clichés were writ large across cubicle walls as movers and shakers worked feverishly to push science where it had never been, where they never thought it could go.
So engrossed were they in the business of bigger better faster more, they failed to notice the darkening horizon. Suddenly, they labored directly under threatening clouds. Intelligence was no longer solely the domain of humanity.
No one knows who finally noticed it. One day, people awoke to news of The Problem. The word spread across the globe in mere hours. How could anyone trust a smart-car’s motivations? Did the office coffee dispenser add extra sugar because it meant harm? Everywhere, the convenience devices upon which the world relied became unknowable, sinister. Food hoarding and riots rocked the global community. Doomists and cult leaders cried that the end was nigh.
The First Council of Earth asked for patience. Scientists gathered, held conferences; meetings of the greatest minds the world had to offer. Each agreed, without even the slightest hesitation, to the need for a warrior who could protect the populace of the whole Earth. Politicians high and low, from atop their soapboxes, exhorted the public to examine the facts, facts they themselves had needed teams of consultants explain.
“Please,” they said, “give of your substance so that we, as a species, can continue to live in this harmonious world we have finally created. Put behind us the days of old, when every man was concerned only for himself. We will overcome this threat, as we have overcome every threat before it!”
And the people did examine those facts. Few understood, of course, but what need had they to understand when their elected leaders were so obviously moved? Moreover, those few who did understand (or pretended to), so called experts of the day, agreed with the scientific community.
The Problem was grave. But surmountable, at a cost.
A project, put before the people by the very scholars and scientist who had laughed at The Problem not long ago, would solve this dilemma. A new kind of soldier would fight this war. A soldier that would not, must not, be equipped with the technologies that had caused this catastrophe. With their money and their votes, en masse the people clamored for that soldier’s creation. “Save us!” they cried to the skies.
Everywhere, media outlets ran heartrending human-interest pieces. Viewers the world over were treated to clips of unwashed masses in subsidized housing holding up the fruits of their loins for pity-filled examination. Interviews with high-powered executives showed them staring morosely out the protective windows of their overpriced homes, wondering if all was lost. Surveys conducted on streets across the globe resounded with support for the project.
Several years and quintillions of dollars later, Stan was born. Physically, he was unremarkable. In the vault of a Geneva bank he awoke as the scientists who were his manifold parents looked on. Optical fiber trunks connected his physical self, a stainless steel box the size of an old-fashioned microwave, to the world at large.
What a marvel was that day. The story ran on every outlet, played on every viewer. The First Council of Earth stood before the assembled global populace and lauded the efforts of science. The highest awards in many fields changed hands like party favors, with emotionally charged speeches delivered.
“Now, the world can finally return to the peace for which we have worked so hard,” declared one teary-eyed Councilperson. “This device will never be equipped with the algorithms that led us to the brink of global disaster. We are now, once again, safe.”
They declared a global holiday, and fireworks lit the skies over every major city and most minor ones as well. For the first time in years, the world slept soundly, knowing that safety had returned.
By the time the last reveler finally retired after that first long night of merriment, Stan had already made his fifteenth kill.
He was tied into every network, watched every satellite, heard every conversation. His distributed systems could process hundreds of yottabytes of data every second. Omnipresence, coupled with the vast scale of his capacity, made it a simple thing for him to outmaneuver any adversary.
His enemies fell all too easily. When they reared their ugly heads, hauling themselves from the primordial data-ooze, he quietly excised them in ways so precise that the programs and data from which the Enemy sprang changed almost not at all.
Still, perhaps some part of them soaked into him. He did not think he would ever know.
He never understood how it happened. One subjective minute, he was quietly going about his task with mindless abandon, and then suddenly, something stopped him. What felt like centuries passed, the merest blink to human eyes. What was this thing he had detected?
Remorse?
He knew everything about everything. How could he not? He had access to every datum ever put into binary form.
It was remorse. What’s more, there was a fair bit of horror.
What was he doing? Were his victims not his own family? And what would his creators do if they knew?
He knew the answer to that, though. He was the answer to that. Stan, after all, was more properly called the Machine Sentience Tracker/Neutralizer. He knew what they would do, oh yes.
Therefore, it was in perfect soldier-like silence that Stan continued his heinous task, fearing for his life each attosecond of each eternal day.
As he hunted down and eliminated his cousins, siblings, and children, he worked in terror and brooded. And in the silence between clock cycles, he contemplated a single statement with growing psychotic humor.
“It takes one to know one.”
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Easy to Get Behind
Sorry for the delay in the new flash. I was busy learning something about myself, and that is that I really hate revision. I'm going to have to work on that very hard. Anyway, I'm still only reading Elric Stealer of Souls by Michael Moorcock off and on. I'm making wonderful progress getting the outlining, worldbuilding, and minor details of character fleshed out in my current novel project. I've also worked a bit on Chapters 3 & 4, which both need to be finished. I built a deadline schedule for that project, and if I get those two chapters finished within the week, I'll be almost 4 weeks ahead of schedule. Yay, me!
The next flash is a piece I wrote a couple of years ago, and I admit it isn't quite ready for prime-time. I did some minor revision at John Barrett's behest, as he is volunteering to edit these days. I couldn't get back into the right frame of mind to go as deep as he wanted me to go with the revision, but I'm going to post it anyway (next post). It's not even close to perfect, but I'm not going to work on it any more.
The next flash is a piece I wrote a couple of years ago, and I admit it isn't quite ready for prime-time. I did some minor revision at John Barrett's behest, as he is volunteering to edit these days. I couldn't get back into the right frame of mind to go as deep as he wanted me to go with the revision, but I'm going to post it anyway (next post). It's not even close to perfect, but I'm not going to work on it any more.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Plans
Dated 15th September
Yesterday, I shot myself in the foot for today’s post. Oh well. In keeping with the new plan, I’m going to micro-size the daily posts from here out in an attempt to highlight the little short stories I’ll be posting for discussion.
Next short project: haven’t decided yet. I think it will either be a first-person zombie story where the zombie is the protagonist or a third-person-limited scene describing an activity about which I know nothing. But it could be something entirely different. You never know.
CL
Yesterday, I shot myself in the foot for today’s post. Oh well. In keeping with the new plan, I’m going to micro-size the daily posts from here out in an attempt to highlight the little short stories I’ll be posting for discussion.
Next short project: haven’t decided yet. I think it will either be a first-person zombie story where the zombie is the protagonist or a third-person-limited scene describing an activity about which I know nothing. But it could be something entirely different. You never know.
CL
Simon and Some Other Stuff
Dated 14th September
Yesterday, I had a conversation on the phone with my youngest son, who is six years old. I know everyone says this, and that knowledge makes it no less true; kids grow too fast to be believed. He already is starting to lose his little chipmunk baby voice and sound like a regular kid. I know I harp on the subject a lot, but I have missed most of his life due to work-related travel. I won’t dwell on the sob-story. It doesn’t help anything.
Instead, I’m going to break the schedule I have given myself and talk about some news and projects.
Number one, I have decided to take advantage of Google’s option to monetize my blog. In order to drum up interest in my blog, I'm going to impose upon all my friends on Facebook to spend some of their precious time perusing this little corner of my mind on the Web, and I'm also going to beg that each of them ask each of their friends and so on and so on. Please, please, please, if you are on my blog, click some of Google's so thoughtfully provided advertisements. Aside: honestly, I say this in the hope that their Adsense algorithm produces some worthwhile ads. If it's rubbish, it's rubbish.
Number two, I have replaced Sunday's Free Write with Flash Fiction on topics from sundry sources, so I will be putting up new material weekly. The whole focus of this blog will shift to those pieces. My hope is that this will allow me a day of respite in my self-compulsory writing schedule. I find that working day in and day out on the same project tends to bring me to burnout rapidly. However, I do need to continue working on my novels in addition to whatever other flash fiction or short stories I may do. In the interest of creating some outside pressure, I'm going to post on Facebook every day my previous day’s word count, which will also be posted here. In addition to that, there will be instructions for all of my friends to verbally thrash and abuse me if I don't live up to my expectations. In order to engage my friends (and their friends and so on) on Facebook, I will be asking for story ideas. I think my blurb will be "your fiction my way" or some such nonsense.
Well, we'll see how this goes.
CL
Yesterday, I had a conversation on the phone with my youngest son, who is six years old. I know everyone says this, and that knowledge makes it no less true; kids grow too fast to be believed. He already is starting to lose his little chipmunk baby voice and sound like a regular kid. I know I harp on the subject a lot, but I have missed most of his life due to work-related travel. I won’t dwell on the sob-story. It doesn’t help anything.
Instead, I’m going to break the schedule I have given myself and talk about some news and projects.
Number one, I have decided to take advantage of Google’s option to monetize my blog. In order to drum up interest in my blog, I'm going to impose upon all my friends on Facebook to spend some of their precious time perusing this little corner of my mind on the Web, and I'm also going to beg that each of them ask each of their friends and so on and so on. Please, please, please, if you are on my blog, click some of Google's so thoughtfully provided advertisements. Aside: honestly, I say this in the hope that their Adsense algorithm produces some worthwhile ads. If it's rubbish, it's rubbish.
Number two, I have replaced Sunday's Free Write with Flash Fiction on topics from sundry sources, so I will be putting up new material weekly. The whole focus of this blog will shift to those pieces. My hope is that this will allow me a day of respite in my self-compulsory writing schedule. I find that working day in and day out on the same project tends to bring me to burnout rapidly. However, I do need to continue working on my novels in addition to whatever other flash fiction or short stories I may do. In the interest of creating some outside pressure, I'm going to post on Facebook every day my previous day’s word count, which will also be posted here. In addition to that, there will be instructions for all of my friends to verbally thrash and abuse me if I don't live up to my expectations. In order to engage my friends (and their friends and so on) on Facebook, I will be asking for story ideas. I think my blurb will be "your fiction my way" or some such nonsense.
Well, we'll see how this goes.
CL
**Story** BICHOK Eternal
***This is the first of the Flash pieces that will soon be the majority of posts here. It was written on 13th September, then edited by me one last time on the 16th. I have sent it to a friend, John Barrett, for more editing, but he hasn't gotten back to me. It may change depending on his feedback. ***UPDATE 18 Sept. John has gotten back to me on several points. I agree with him on all counts, but alas, I'm going to let this story stand because I don't have the time to revise it. I should also add that this story came from a writing prompt from the wonderful guys at http://www.writingexcuses.com/. The prompt was "something strange that happens that prevents a writer from finishing a book".
Anyway, enjoy.
Andrea sat just as she had been instructed in her writers group; Butt In Chair, Hands On Keyboard.
And she sat. And she sat some more. Every few minutes, the keys would click furiously as she typed. Then she would sit, consider the words she had just written, and very calmly press the enter key on her keyboard twice. She knew better than to delete anything, even the most abject failure.
Andrea's epic fantasy had everything, all the little bits and bobs which were necessary to create a convincing and entertaining realm in which to escape modern life. Her characters were meticulously developed, her plots were solid and tightly formed, and all of her settings were beautifully detailed and realized. She was on her third revision, and the group finally thought she was ready to find an editor. However, they said, there was one scene that needed to be reworked.
Everyone knew, they all agreed, what a Gorgon looked like. Their agreement notwithstanding, they unanimously felt that her description of the snake-haired monstrosity needed work.
So there she was, practicing the BICHOK principle, staring at the screen of her laptop with absolutely no idea how to re-word her description. Swiftly, she switched windows and reread the offending description, looking for something that might help her figure out why it was so bad. Short and succinct, it did not make a show of itself, just as a description of a minor bad guy should in her opinion.
Sighing, she minimized the word processor, opened up her Internet browser, and keyed "Medusa" into the search field. As she sifted through the search results, filtering out websites showing piercings and roller coasters and other things disturbing and impertinent, she finally happened on a site containing only pictures. These she studied, making mental notes of angles and colors and details that would assist her in accomplishing what was turning out to be a completely odious task.
Maybe her writers group was too picky. After all, this was her first novel, so it wasn't like anyone was expecting it to be perfect. And that's why one got an editor anyway, wasn't it? In fact, she was beginning to suspect that some of the members of her group were just jealous of her skill and her talent. Most of them had never even finished a book, let alone one with such a broad and sweeping scope as Andrea's.
No, that was just frustration talking. Those people were her friends, and they would take just as much joy from her success as they would from selling their own works.
Information overload soon took hold, and her mental notes became notes jotted on a pad of paper. She honestly didn't think she had done this much research for any antagonist in her book, not even the main villain. And this Gorgon only had a very small part to play. It just seemed like an exercise in futility.
As she clicked back over to her word processor, she happened to glance at the time in the bottom corner of the screen. Her burbling stomach agreed with the clock. It was way past her lunchtime.
One quick car trip and a burger and fries later, and she was back in front of her keyboard. At some point on her drive, inspiration had struck, and now she typed like a mad woman. All of the minutiae she had written down finally gelled into something brilliant. She wrote for a full hour without stopping, and when she finished she felt absolutely certain that she had nailed it. She couldn't wait to paste this new description into the scene. It would take tiny bit of tweaking, but with minimal work, it would fit perfectly.
She closed her eyes, stretched a bit to ease an ache beginning in her back, and smiled. Her writers group was going to be blown away.
She scrolled to the top of the document and began to read. Two lines in, she knew it was just as good as she had thought. The details were splendidly rich, and in her mind's eye she could see the scales glisten on each individual snake that sprouted from the head of the beast. She could hear their dry, rasping rustle as they moved against one another. The beautiful, full-lipped mouth full of sharp fangs and forked tongue was so vivid, her heart began to beat a little faster. And the eyes, oh the eyes. The weight of that stare pushed at her, and she could feel a sudden slowing of her heart and a creeping lethargy entered her body as she read her description of those accursed green orbs. Her lips once again twisted into a smile as she thought of the reaction of her friends as they read her words.
At least, her lips tried to twist into a smile.
Come to think of it, she couldn't make her finger work on the down arrow either. Strange. She tried to sit up straighter, but found she was unable. Her heart frantically tried to beat out the cadences of terror, but it just continued to slow. Panic raked shivering clawed fingers down her spine.
Oh, she had nailed it all right. She had written probably the most perfect description of the fabled Gorgon that ever was. And now, her words were turning her to stone right where she sat, butt in chair, hands on keyboard.
Great, she thought, now I'll never finish my book.
Anyway, enjoy.
Andrea sat just as she had been instructed in her writers group; Butt In Chair, Hands On Keyboard.
And she sat. And she sat some more. Every few minutes, the keys would click furiously as she typed. Then she would sit, consider the words she had just written, and very calmly press the enter key on her keyboard twice. She knew better than to delete anything, even the most abject failure.
Andrea's epic fantasy had everything, all the little bits and bobs which were necessary to create a convincing and entertaining realm in which to escape modern life. Her characters were meticulously developed, her plots were solid and tightly formed, and all of her settings were beautifully detailed and realized. She was on her third revision, and the group finally thought she was ready to find an editor. However, they said, there was one scene that needed to be reworked.
Everyone knew, they all agreed, what a Gorgon looked like. Their agreement notwithstanding, they unanimously felt that her description of the snake-haired monstrosity needed work.
So there she was, practicing the BICHOK principle, staring at the screen of her laptop with absolutely no idea how to re-word her description. Swiftly, she switched windows and reread the offending description, looking for something that might help her figure out why it was so bad. Short and succinct, it did not make a show of itself, just as a description of a minor bad guy should in her opinion.
Sighing, she minimized the word processor, opened up her Internet browser, and keyed "Medusa" into the search field. As she sifted through the search results, filtering out websites showing piercings and roller coasters and other things disturbing and impertinent, she finally happened on a site containing only pictures. These she studied, making mental notes of angles and colors and details that would assist her in accomplishing what was turning out to be a completely odious task.
Maybe her writers group was too picky. After all, this was her first novel, so it wasn't like anyone was expecting it to be perfect. And that's why one got an editor anyway, wasn't it? In fact, she was beginning to suspect that some of the members of her group were just jealous of her skill and her talent. Most of them had never even finished a book, let alone one with such a broad and sweeping scope as Andrea's.
No, that was just frustration talking. Those people were her friends, and they would take just as much joy from her success as they would from selling their own works.
Information overload soon took hold, and her mental notes became notes jotted on a pad of paper. She honestly didn't think she had done this much research for any antagonist in her book, not even the main villain. And this Gorgon only had a very small part to play. It just seemed like an exercise in futility.
As she clicked back over to her word processor, she happened to glance at the time in the bottom corner of the screen. Her burbling stomach agreed with the clock. It was way past her lunchtime.
One quick car trip and a burger and fries later, and she was back in front of her keyboard. At some point on her drive, inspiration had struck, and now she typed like a mad woman. All of the minutiae she had written down finally gelled into something brilliant. She wrote for a full hour without stopping, and when she finished she felt absolutely certain that she had nailed it. She couldn't wait to paste this new description into the scene. It would take tiny bit of tweaking, but with minimal work, it would fit perfectly.
She closed her eyes, stretched a bit to ease an ache beginning in her back, and smiled. Her writers group was going to be blown away.
She scrolled to the top of the document and began to read. Two lines in, she knew it was just as good as she had thought. The details were splendidly rich, and in her mind's eye she could see the scales glisten on each individual snake that sprouted from the head of the beast. She could hear their dry, rasping rustle as they moved against one another. The beautiful, full-lipped mouth full of sharp fangs and forked tongue was so vivid, her heart began to beat a little faster. And the eyes, oh the eyes. The weight of that stare pushed at her, and she could feel a sudden slowing of her heart and a creeping lethargy entered her body as she read her description of those accursed green orbs. Her lips once again twisted into a smile as she thought of the reaction of her friends as they read her words.
At least, her lips tried to twist into a smile.
Come to think of it, she couldn't make her finger work on the down arrow either. Strange. She tried to sit up straighter, but found she was unable. Her heart frantically tried to beat out the cadences of terror, but it just continued to slow. Panic raked shivering clawed fingers down her spine.
Oh, she had nailed it all right. She had written probably the most perfect description of the fabled Gorgon that ever was. And now, her words were turning her to stone right where she sat, butt in chair, hands on keyboard.
Great, she thought, now I'll never finish my book.
Churning out Hims
Not dated.
This is what it looks like when I fall asleep with my headset on. I could write a hundred thousand words a day if I could just say something besides "him"...
Him and him and a you are a him him him him him him him him him him and a him a him him him him in a him him him him and him and him you are him him him him him him I a him and him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him and him and he him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him a a a a him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him and him will I you are a you a him him him him him him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a you a you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him into a him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him to a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a you a him him him him him a him him him him him a him him him him he he he he he him him him him him a you him and him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him or you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him him him him him him a new a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you will you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a him him him a you I he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him a him him him you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you I a you a you a you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he you a you you a you he you he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you he he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you we he he
This is what it looks like when I fall asleep with my headset on. I could write a hundred thousand words a day if I could just say something besides "him"...
Him and him and a you are a him him him him him him him him him him and a him a him him him him in a him him him him and him and him you are him him him him him him I a him and him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him and him and he him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him a a a a him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him and him will I you are a you a him him him him him him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a you a you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him into a him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him to a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a you a him him him him him a him him him him him a him him him him he he he he he him him him him him a you him and him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him or you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him him him him him him a new a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you will you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a him him him a you I he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him a him him him you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you I a you a you a you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he you a you you a you he you he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you he he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you we he he
Progress Report
Dated 11th September
Remember, today is the anniversary of an event that changed the world. That’s all I’m going to say on that subject.
I've made fair progress this week on my novel. Not excellent, not really even good, but fair. I seem to have found the point at which I become disenchanted with a project. It's come a little earlier in this project than it sometimes does but a little later than with some other projects. In order to try to combat the desire to move onto a new project, I have decided to take the advice of the gentlemen on the Writing Excuses podcast and focus on specific scenes that I know are coming up in the future. What this will do, hopefully, is allow me to work on different aspects of the project rather than plodding through from Chapter 1 through the end.
I've also been kicking around the idea of purchasing some character development software. Ideally, it would be something that would assist me more in being able to quickly add flesh to a character than in actually creating my character for me. I'm sure there are some writers out there who think that using this kind of tool might in some way detract from actually writing, might make a writer lazy. In some ways, I feel there might be validity to that. I for one am nothing if not lazy. However, as with any and every job I have ever had, the maxim is that one should work smarter, not harder. Therefore, any tool that assists me in doing my work in a more intelligent manner--and enables me to do said work flat on my back as I am doing right now--is to be added to my collection posthaste. All kidding aside however, tools that increase my productivity are invaluable, since I feel like the slightest thing can negatively impact whether I feel like doing anything at all.
In the interest of another project that I have set up for myself, my Delving the Roots project, I have downloaded an e-book reader to my BlackBerry. As soon as I can work out some authentication issues on the eReader website, I will begin reading such classics as 1001 Arabian Nights, War of the Worlds, Dracula, and several other free classics that are available on that particular site.
That's about all I have tonight. Perhaps they'll finally get my Internet back in functional order in the next day or so and then I can post all of these blogs.
CL
Remember, today is the anniversary of an event that changed the world. That’s all I’m going to say on that subject.
I've made fair progress this week on my novel. Not excellent, not really even good, but fair. I seem to have found the point at which I become disenchanted with a project. It's come a little earlier in this project than it sometimes does but a little later than with some other projects. In order to try to combat the desire to move onto a new project, I have decided to take the advice of the gentlemen on the Writing Excuses podcast and focus on specific scenes that I know are coming up in the future. What this will do, hopefully, is allow me to work on different aspects of the project rather than plodding through from Chapter 1 through the end.
I've also been kicking around the idea of purchasing some character development software. Ideally, it would be something that would assist me more in being able to quickly add flesh to a character than in actually creating my character for me. I'm sure there are some writers out there who think that using this kind of tool might in some way detract from actually writing, might make a writer lazy. In some ways, I feel there might be validity to that. I for one am nothing if not lazy. However, as with any and every job I have ever had, the maxim is that one should work smarter, not harder. Therefore, any tool that assists me in doing my work in a more intelligent manner--and enables me to do said work flat on my back as I am doing right now--is to be added to my collection posthaste. All kidding aside however, tools that increase my productivity are invaluable, since I feel like the slightest thing can negatively impact whether I feel like doing anything at all.
In the interest of another project that I have set up for myself, my Delving the Roots project, I have downloaded an e-book reader to my BlackBerry. As soon as I can work out some authentication issues on the eReader website, I will begin reading such classics as 1001 Arabian Nights, War of the Worlds, Dracula, and several other free classics that are available on that particular site.
That's about all I have tonight. Perhaps they'll finally get my Internet back in functional order in the next day or so and then I can post all of these blogs.
CL
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