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haters gonna hate – even the shit i be proud of, yeah?

Month

May 2013

tell me a story – iggy pop

I’ve been working my way through bob mayer’s book, ‘writing fiction’ and it’s sparking off ideas, new ways of looking at the process of storytelling.
For me, if I had to write the same book over and over, the magic would soon pale. So every time I write something, I try to do something different from everything that’s gone before.
I’ve pretty much worked out my mfc for ‘transgressionata’ now. I’ve done the forst draft of her dossier (I’ve even named her and my mmc – Julia Durham and Ozzy McLeod, respectively.)
As usual, once I’ve nailed the characters, the plot seems to start writing itself, unfurling like a great big skull ‘n’ crossbones against a huge naked expanse of perfect ocean.
I haven’t created dossiers for any other characters yet (work colleagues, family members, politicians, etc). Time I did my first outline draft and had a look at the character arcs before I start shoveling in minor characters and sub-plots.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

crazy – mud

I did a bit more work on ‘transgressionata’ this afternoon. Created a dossier for my mmc and laid out a dossier template for all the places in the story.
I’ve also created a prologue – just a way into the story and the reader’s first introduction to the mmc (who still doesn’t have a name!)
The world’s getting crazier, though, one day at a time. Last week, two nutcases beheaded a complete stranger in the street then stood around yittering until the police arrived to shoot them.
And a goodly chunk of the great brutish public swallowed everything they said without question. If they’d said Justin Beiber told them to do it, no doubt Tommy Robinson and Nigel Farage would be calling for the expulsion and destruction of all the little girls in this country. And we’d be reading about arson attacks on schools – because that’s where the bastards congregate.
Believe it or not, both Farage and Robinson have agendas. And, since all human life originated in Africa, the sooner we get these fucking homo sapiens out of this beloved land of ours the better.
Rights for whites, yeah?
Woolwich has proved one thing – that there are no depths political pros will not sink to if they think it’ll gain them one more imbecile’s vote.
I can’t imagine what outliving one of my kids – or grandkids – would feel like. And to lose a child to a couple of fruitcakes who didn’t like her or his t-shirt is utterly mind-crushing. It makes no sense whatsoever.
But if I survived that, the sight of fascists capitalising on my private hell, trivialising my child’s death to push a twisted agenda, that’s enough to make me strap on a rucksack full of semtex and agree to address a big rally of nazis, nut-jobs and sunken foreheads.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

all white jack – punishment of luxury

Over the last few days, I’ve started laying out ideas for the next dreich NOiR story. Set in the same un-scotland as what I’ve written already, but I want to look at different issues this time. The UKIP/Full English defense league have *really* started to piss me off since Lee Rigby was beheaded last week. So, this one’ll be dreich racism.
I lost an argument (about de Sade) on twitter the other week, which was what started me thinking about this. Like the grain of sand in an oyster, digging into me, forcing me to coat it in my pearly substance, this has been banging around inside my skullshell, the thorn in my side that will (hopefully) emerge a pearl.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

time we left this world today – hawkwind

I seem to be pishing ideas at the moment, haemorraging bookseeds like a knifed and shrieking sow. A conversation with #2 son yesterday that began with us agreeing that space aliens will never show up on our planet with their hyper-evolved technology soon moved into an un-twentieth century where scientific advances had shot ahead of cultural development. I wrote it down, so I might do something with that someday.
For now though, my primary to-be-written project’s still the transgressionata and my most important polishing jobs are ‘person-hair’ and ‘1919 (outside)’
Long day at work today. Working at four (count ’em) different units for a couple of hours each. I don’t see me getting a mad crazy amount of writing done by the end of tonight somehow.
And I’m knackered. Bone-exhausted. Ah well, a couple of days off – just what the suicide bomber ordered!

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

hip priest – the fall

It’s been a week-and-a-half since I finished ‘person-hair’. Spent the time catching up at work, chilling and, most importantly, catching up on my reading.
I also notice I’ve neglected my journal for the last month or so. Double-plus ungood. So I’ve kick-started that again these last couple of days.
I need to write every day, otherwise I start to fold back in on myself. If anything, that first 30 minutes of each day, where I read over what I wrote the day before and tease each idea out a little more, is vital to my approaching the day in a positive frame of mind.
I also saw the fall this week. First time in eight years and they were brilliant. Ok, not ‘1983’ brilliant – or even ‘1999’ brilliant, but smith’s spent the best part of the last forty years right out on the fucking edge, so yeah, he’s starting to curl at the edges. He lasted thirty minutes onstage, before performing one song from behind the guitar amp, then doing the next couple offstage. He came back on and managed one more and it was over.

now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.

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