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


idiots’ graveyard

Any day now – cop shoot cop

Ah well, that’s another two thousand words ground out and my month’s count stands at about thirty-two-and-a-half thousand).
I started reading “the hunger games” (yeah – trendsetter, me)… Hmmm. It’s probably already too late to accuse suzanne collins of ripping off “the light entertainment” – which I wrote in march of this year.
I canny believe just how close it is. C’est le guerre.
I’ll rip it down for characters, situations and so on. One day.
Work’s a grinding horror. Still, I finish in another six hours or so and I have the best part of seventy-two hours off, which I shall invest in a spot of keyboard rage.
I’ve not got much done these last couple of days, but I’m hoping to pull myself back up over the next couple.
If anything, i feel pretty damn positive about steaming into the idiots’ graveyard this weekend. And, once I’ve completed tonight’s couple of thousand words, I plan to relax. To the max.
When one works hard and plays hard, it’s vital to balance it all by resting hard, too.
And yeah, I’ll probably end tonight, curled up with “the hunger games”. I’m not wishing I’d written it (yet!) but I *am* enjoying it.


He’s a whore – big black

Another two thousand words squeezed out last night after a full day’s training. That’s me well over thirty thousand (I’m assuming – I didn’t update my word count last night).
I’ve hit that point where characters are starting to surprise me – doing and saying things I never planned and didn’t expect.
There’s a point in every novel where one’s creations start standing up on their hind legs and calling their creator by hir first name. Faced with this, one can cast them down into the fiery pit like a dore engraving or you can just sit back and transcribe the movie.
And what a movie this is turning out to be! Elements of every lousy job I’ve ever had, peopled by every arsewipe I’ve ever worked, studied or broke rocks next to. The galloping neuro-atypical on a bed of draconioan exploitation – it’s well seeing we gots a tory back in number ten.
Which begs the question: if scotland gets independance in a couple of years, will there still be sufficient horrors to write about?
I remember when the edinbury whoors travelled to copenhagen in 1998, we all found it difficult to write anything. Take us out of all that scottish presbyterian thou-shalt-not philophobia and we’re like fish out of pish – redundant.
I took notes on our trip, but it was an uphill struggle. Neither sandie or ray wrote a damn thing whilst we were in denmark.
Talking about it, a day or two before coming back to blighty, we all agreed that we needed the sexual repression and omnipresent sense of judgemental dread we’d grown up with.
Which is sad, really.

the bump – kenny

I got in after another day spent training and ground out another fifteen hundred words. Not my one thousand, six hundred and sixty-seven, but not far off it.
I still need to write at least two thousand words per day to finish on time. I had hoped of being back up-to-date by tonight, but that’s probably not going to happen. C’est le guerre.
Arriving at today’s training, I was informed that all of thursday’s has been cancelled/postponed til next month. So thursday gives me another long lie and another full day sweating over a hot keyboard. Result!
I’m liking the way the plot’s coming together, too. This is the second novel I’ve written from ‘happy ever after’ to ‘once upon a time’ and it’s coming easily (on my good days!)
So, tonight, tomorrow and all day thursday. That should bump my word count up.

a past gone mad – the fall

I managed five thousand words yesterday and another twenty-five hundred today, taking my total up to twenty-seven-and-a-half thousand this month.
Now and again, I get a day (or two) where the prose just pours out like pish from a sleeping jakey and each time, I’m surprised at just how groovy that feels. I feel really positive just now – like a ‘proper’ writer (except without the briar pipe and deerstalker). I feel like I could out-write any ten norwegians in this bar, dammit!
What I’m enjoying most about writing this novel is, because it’s set in the workplace, I get to dredge up every crap job I’ve ever had – as well as every neuro-atypical I ever worked with. I’m digging deep for this one, seriously.
It’s like ‘the office’ – a collection of eccentrics – or in some cases, unusuals.
Oh, what a hot hoot my employment history has been!

let’s make the water turn black – the mothers of invention

Up at five once more and another thousand words added to the idiots’ graveyard in the brutal darkness. It’s coming painfully slowly this time around.
I’m still getting ideas to slot into it; I’d just started the scene featuring the stripper when it was time to leave for work.
There are also a couple of sub-plots I’ll probably work in when I revise it next year. One about homelessness I’m particularly proud of, but it’ll have to be poured in carefully, so as not to leave any bubbles.
I’m still reading kevin courrier’s zappa biog, “dangerous kitchen”. Just a chapter or two every time I have a bath, absorbing it slow and careful.
This morning, I just got to where john lennon and yoko ono turned up on stage with the mothers in 1971. Apparently, lennon was worshipful of zappa; like a schoolboy crush on the guy who piss-ripped “sgt pepper” so thoroughly a few years earlier.
For me, I love the way zappa embedded references to other musics in his own; the way a tarrentino references the movies that shaped him.
Which (ideally) is how the idiots’ graveyard will pan out.
I also enjoy the ‘folkloric’ aspect of zappa’s work. Courrier goes into the story behind “the mud shark”; citing ritchie coles’ “stairway to heaven” collection of led zep bad behaviour stories.
Many of the sequences in the idiots’ graveyard are based in things that actually happened in some of the many excrable jobs I’ve had over the years.

le freak – chic

Up at 05:00 and into the idiots’ graveyard. I only wrote 450 words or so, but they were good words. One or two of them even groovy.
This is like march all over again. It’s the 13th today and I’ve yet to have even three or four days’ clear run at the fucker.
March was when I wrote light entertainment – while fighting off triage, the DSS and attending dozens of interviews – for jobs I didn’t get a sniff at.
The novel took me about 37, 38 days and weighed in at almost 70,000 words.
So I suppose, the familiarity of the territory’s why I’m not freaking, more approaching it calmly. Doing what I can every day and watching my word count mount up – albeit slowly.
I’m writing this on the bus to the induction to my training block. Two weeks of intensive theory – while having to work as well.
I’ll complete this novel though. In fact, my only sacrifices will be food, rest and personal hygiene.

plastic people – the mothers of invention

After a weekend of rnr, this morning I got up with the lark and wrung out another thousand words of the idiots’ graveyard. I’m closing in on the halfway point of my outline: so I’ve pencilled in worrying myself sick that I’ll run out of ideas somewhere between forty and fifty k.
Starting tomorrow, I have my training block, so I’ll be working, studying AND trying to squeeze out the great fife novel!
These posts have got a bit sporadic of late, I know. #2 son moved into mine and I’m juggling him with everything else, too.
It’s great having him underfoot – we’re watching “six feet under” from the beginning – and “the IT crowd”. He’s turned me onto the US “office” and recommended “homeland”.

mr knowitall – primus

Fourteen thousand words already. The plot’s hanging together fairly well, if not the characters. And, as always, as soon as I start writing the thing, I get a million new ideas.

If anything, I’ve been beating myself up over how little work I’ve been doing on my novel. Damn, this protestant work ethic – it’s gie-en me gyp, so it is!

The inner critic is one of the fiercest enemies I face whilst engaged in the squeezing out of create-work.

Ignoring it, ripping out its vocal cords, even silencing its voice for good, all of these strategies seem like a far cuddlier option than listening to a lecture by a know-it-all who needs its lungs ripped out.

child in time – deep purple

That’s me on eleven thousand words. And, strange as it may seem, it’s not going all that badly.

I’ve already ripped out a chunk of my outline and replaced a PUAs meeting with an avon-lady suicide cult.

I wrote a draft of this back in 1998. So I dug this out and I’m reading through it and the notes I made at the time.

And it’s terrible! There’s no overall direction to the plot, characters explode into the narrative then disappear and the whole sub-plot about the MC’s pornography collection seems stupid and trite now.

Still, that was the pinnacle of personal artistic achievement thirteen, fourteen years ago and if I hadn’t written that, I would’ve missed lessons that got me to where I am today.

I don’t know what’s happened all all my writing buddies on NaNoWriMo either. not one of them’s put their head over the parapet this year.

Luckily, the new weird/bizarro/gritty surrealism thread (under ‘other genres’ on the NaNoWriMo forums) is still going strong, a shining beacon of hope to creeps, weirdos and the unusual everywhere.



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Doing for the english language what blondie did for the fossil record.

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