One of an endless series of notes I find in my phone, usually scribbled while in the line for coffee or walking home at night. Copied as-is.
Something from Sparks (THAT old chestnut). I kind of want to go back to regular blogging, but this is so much easier when I’m warm and lazy and post-work sleepy, sitting here with my cat and a glass of wine and season 3 of Buffy (to which, it turns out, I still know all the words).
Here’s some more After. The last scene was a version of the first one I wrote for Scout and Kit — this is the first one I ever wrote for Jamie and Lucas. I wrote this so long ago I have no perspective on it whatsoever — so long ago, in fact, that my cat is named after the character and not the other way around.
(Feel free to give me feedback on which of these word-worlds you like more. I’m feckless and easily swayed.)
I am not supposed to be writing this, you guys! And yet. And yet.
Sailor was thinking about being a princess, the sun pooled like treacle on the tip of her nose and the tops of her knees. She wouldn’t be a wussy princess. She’d fight with swords in wars and all the warriors would want to kiss her — but she’d be the kind of princess who’d laugh at them and challenge them to duels. She’d have dresses and servants to do her hair, and they’d eat chicken every day. Hot and greasy, with their fingers.
So, friend and code magician Chris made this thing yesterday:
It makes poems out of interactive fiction, and I dig everything about it. I dig what it creates and what it uses to create it. I especially dig that the poem emerges from the places the robots meet. I find that oddly romantic. Robot romance? I SAID IT. They’re crawling around in that tangle of words, spitting poetry like sparks whenever they collide. (See? ROMANTIC.)
I’m very into this.
Here’s the end of that same scene from AFTER, because some of you asked for it — and because I lost tonight writing a post on gender in media that I need someone to sanity check for me tomorrow. Just you wait!
My brain decided I shouldn’t sleep last night. Like, at all. Now, I’m a champion insomniac — I’d medal in not sleeping at the staying awake Olympics — but this morning I was still awake at 6:15am, which is freaking impressive, even for me. I feel like I’ve been beaten with a bag of hammers. Like I’m hungover or still drunk or flu-sick or half-mad.
I’m living alone at the moment, which is kind of fantastic. When I’m not walking sleepless circles around my mostly-empty house, I’ve been working my way back through the Harry Potter movies, drinking too much wine on my couch, and generally avoiding writing anything of consequence. So here’s a scene from AFTER, because I don’t have anything new to share today.
AFTER, that beautiful disaster, is my Big Idea. I’ve blogged about that before — it’s the book that keeps you awake at night, that rattles around the back of your head for years, the characters taking up space in your dreams. I hate it more often than I love it, but I can never seem to leave it alone.
At my current pace, it’ll be finished sometime around 2025. Stay tuned!
I was going to post a scene from AFTER, but I’m tying myself in knots over every imperfect word. So, instead, here’s some rough-as-guts pirate playtime.
This logic works in my head.
The ship sat, squat, in the mouth between two rocky islands. The tide sucked and swiped at Northward from both sides, and the little boat in her shadow whipped on its rope like a wagging tail.
Sailor hated it here. Last year, they’d waited almost three weeks before an Imperial ship had passed. All the chickens had died and rats had got into the flour, and they’d lived on the oily, salty little fish that schooled in the swirling shallows. Sailor’s lips and knuckles had cracked and bled, and the whites of Tarq’s eyes had turned yellow.
Today all the extra work I did in February furnished my house. I did my usual — days of extensive research, followed by losing my patience and buying everything in one shop just to get it over with.
I forgot about delivery times, though, so my new throw pillows and I will be eating off our laps for another couple of weeks anyway.
More pirates. I don’t know that I’ve nailed this yet, but it’s the closest I’ve ever been to pinning down how it felt, to me, to be a teenager. YMMV.
I’m already reaching on the themes here, folks.
Today is a good day. I’m feeling better, finally, like I fit in my own skin again. It’s been a tough year, so far — a confusing, anxiety-ridden mess that’s done a bit of a number on my sense of self. My instinct has been to withdraw and hide from the world for a while — but I worked so hard not to do that through the anxious, messy stuff, and although it didn’t work out for me (it was never going to work out for me), I have to trust that I learned something, and that pushing myself got me somewhere.
So here I am.
Welcome back, me. I missed you.
This is from a thing about pirates. Pirates! It’s something I started as a playtime break from my Serious Novel when that one wasn’t going well — kicked off by this single mental image — that then took on a life of its own. It’s all very rough and kind of silly, but there’s something really cool buried within it that I still want to explore. When I find the time…