Friday, November 30, 2012

Here

Here: 

 
 
  And Here:
 
 
 
Just start clicking shit and you'll figure it out. 
Too tired to explain. 
Must.... find.... TV remote....
 
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Saturday, November 24, 2012

Only A Few

My son was with friends, late and dark. 
His friends wanted to go somewhere unsafe.  
Son asked, “Can I go?” 
I said no. 
I spied.  
All of his friends went,
My son stayed.   
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"Give us a few of your favorite things, in whichever form you want, in 33 words exactly."
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Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Still Writing

It is day 20 in the ongoing NaNoWriMo saga.  I've not missed a word count yet, though I haven't sailed past one, either.  

I have learned that leaving my work each evening in the middle of a sentence makes it easier to get started again the next day.  

I have learned that these two things frequently cited by some amateur writers and maligned by many successful ones are not merely quirky personality traits, they are personality faults that must be overcome, and are not, and will never be, conducive to being a writer-
1.  I cannot force myself to write. 
2.  I'm too much of a perfectionist.  

I'm guilty of having said both of those things.  And that fully explains why I have never written anything substantial in my life.  They are things I will never say again, nor concede to. 

I have learned that one's body makes neither exceptions nor concessions to the things it needs depending on your schedule or stress level.  This month, I have lost 7 pounds, had laryngitis and probably bronchitis, and now I have a UTI.  About 4 or 5 days ago, I got heartburn for the first time since I was last pregnant and it hasn't gone away.  I'm pretty sure my bladder is the size of a football and I would imagine it looks like the smoldering shit storm beneath Centralia, Pennsylviania.

I'm exhausted.  I'm still doing this while working a full-time job, doing motherly things, and alongside a kid who is also doing Nano, and who demands that we talk about it and compare notes. All. The. Time.  Talky McFuckingTalkerson. 

I have learned that this book will not be over on November 30.  Maybe 3/4 done. At worst, only 1/2 done.  It depends on what happens.

I have learned that my favorite thing to do everyday, when I sit down to write, is to read yesterday's words to remind myself where I am, remember the idea I had in my head the day before, then completely toss it out the window and do the opposite.  Every single day.   If I did anything different from that, I'd be bored out of my skull.  When I get bored, my writing is shit.  If my writing is shit, I delete it all back to the point where I got bored.  The I make people do a buncha bad stuff.  Then, it's fun again.  I win!

So, you ask, does good stuff happen?  In my stories?  Only if they work for it.  Don't nobody get a free ride on my watch.   Good things don't happen to good people, either.  Good things happen to the characters who spilled blood for it.  Lost fingernails.  Lost children.  Were forced to do horrible things.  Pissed blood.  Vomited worms.  Then, and only then, will good things happen.

That's the way I roll.  I'm a terribly cruel word-mother.


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Thursday, November 15, 2012

Not My Problem

"Some people don't want to hear the truth, of course, but that's not your problem." 
~ Stephen King

Do you ever really sit down and think about why certain books get banned?  I think the quote up there explains it all.

Either the story speaks truth that readers don't want to hear.
Or the story speaks that which readers are afraid might become the truth, if they hear it.  Or their children.  Or anyone else for that matter.

Of course, in my eyes, putting boundaries on that which I, as a human being, am exposed to with any of my senses completely goes against what it means to be human.  Which is to say, what it means to ME to be human.

I've told my son this for years- being a writer requires you to know people.  Not as friends or coworkers or even individuals, but to know human beings as a race.  How they act and react, how they perceive the world around them, what they tend to believe in and what they do not, and why.  And then, from your very first chapter, write everything and anything that forces them to question humanity.  Not their own humanity.  Humanity as a whole.  It's existence and reason for it.  Its potential in both extremes.

I think the one blanket truth humans do not want to know is that for the species to realize its full potential in one direction, it will inevitably realize its full potential in the other.  There is no circumventing that.  I will know absolutely that I have succeeded when someone puts down one of my creations and says to himself, "Is THIS what the world is coming to?"

And then I shall say, "Nope.  It's been that way all along.  And in order for you to be virtuously ignorant, I must bear the burden of being repugnantly nihilist."

You can thank me later.

As an aside, I know I have readers here that don't read my other shit, so, you know.  I wrote a short little thing that's gonna be in a thing which will go on sale December 1st.  You can see my cute little bio here http://waymanpublishing.webs.com/authors.htm, because, you know, why not?  And junk.  

And I am totally kicking punk ass on NaNoWriMo. www.nanowrimo.org/en/participants/aimee-davis/ What's scary is how much fun I am having and how little "writer's block." Okay, truth.  I have had no writer's block.  None.  Not even for 5 minutes.  Of course, today is the halfway point.  So, you know, it could go




Yeah, I pretty much just did that.
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Sunday, November 11, 2012

Faces of Death

You don't understand.  You people will never understand. 
I don't get sick.  This just does not happen to me.  My body does not function the way your earthly bags of bones function. 
I am different.  
I am not human such as yourselves. 
So. 
When I get sick, I am pretty sure I am going to die.  
I mean, you just don't understand.  
See, I am coughing, right?  BUT..... it just doesn't stop with one cough!! OMG, there are like  50 COUGHS that happen before I can stop!! 
But it gets worse.  SOOO much worse. 
There is this alien substance that is being expelled from my body when I cough.  It's like.... like.... MUCUS!! Or plasma.  Or ectoplasm maybe.  Or it could be amalgamated boogers.  Dude.  I don't know what amalgamated means.  But it sounds really good with boogers.  
BUT.... it even gets worse!! You just don't get it!!
My skin.... it feels like... like.... HOT.  I mean, yeah, I'm pretty hot and junk, you know.  Normally.  But, this is different.  It's like.... I'm not doing anything, but it's like.... YUCKY!
And then... THEN!!.... I'm so tired.  You just don't know.  SO TIRED.  When I try to run, my body laughs at me.  It actually LAUGHS AT ME.  
I hate food.  Food is so gross.  ALL OF IT.  Gross!!
Except I really want one of those coffee shakes from McDonalds with the whipped cream on top.  That would be fucking FANTASTIC right now.... but I don't have one.  
SOMEBODY GO GET ME ONE NOW!!!
Holy shit, I just threw up in my hand...... 
I'm totally not joking....
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Sunday, November 4, 2012

Too Simple

Twenty-thousand words ago, I carved out your heart with a screwdriver and fed it to your dog.  In another twenty-thousand, you will beg me to do it again.   I like screwdrivers.  And dogs.  
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Trifextra Week Forty-
"we're asking for exactly 33 words about why we write"
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