Welp kiddies, it's deadline week again, and that means I've got four chapters to kick out the door between now and Friday PM. We'll see how that fits in with this here blog thing.
It shouldn't be too bad, relative to, say, getting hit in the face with a dead pelican. Two of those four are already written...sort of...meaning that there are at least three or four versions of them, which can be mashed together and revised. It's the two chapters that only exist as [INSERT AWESOME STORYTELLING HERE] in the outline that are troublesome.
So I'm off to go do that.
Sorry about the seabird.
It shouldn't be too bad, relative to, say, getting hit in the face with a dead pelican. Two of those four are already written...sort of...meaning that there are at least three or four versions of them, which can be mashed together and revised. It's the two chapters that only exist as [INSERT AWESOME STORYTELLING HERE] in the outline that are troublesome.
So I'm off to go do that.
Sorry about the seabird.
Go get 'em Ian! I have faith in you.
They'll be gotten. Oh yes, they will.
(It's always the same: any time I get stuck, it's because I've started writing as myself instead of the character. As soon as I remember that and snap back into voice, the barriers drop and I'm off. In this case, writing the lines "Rats and monkeys gave their lives in the service of corporate pharmacology so that we humans might be able to forget the intolerable. The fact that they ended up dying so that I could remember every detail of a blowjob I gave fifty years ago in a Central Park gazebo does not lessen their furry sacrifice" reminded me of who I was supposed to be. Not so much with the serious, more with the wry sex and the funny.)
Wheee!
Could be worse. Could have been a live pelican. The e.r. visit alone would have been horrendous, not to mention the cost of pelican therapy in today's economy. Take your time, we'll read very
s l o w l y.