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| 321 Pages |
| 08.31.05 (7:14 am) [edit] |
Jernee dog asked how many pages I have written and that is a valid question.
Today, before any additions or subtractions that translates into Snakehead is 321 pages long. It is 74,034 words. The total word count for everything I have written since February when I began keeping track is 129,152 words on 538 pages.
The process involves writing lots of stuff and then the rewrites generally cause me to "lose" words because everything gets tighter and superflous expository dumps get dumped. So in the morning, I note where the word count is, and then again when I am done in the afternoon. So even though it may appear that I have only written a few pages, the truth is that I may have written 8 and eliminated 6. Make sense?
So far, this week, my favorite line is "yeah, all pedophiles look good on paper."
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| 72556 Words. |
| 08.26.05 (10:04 am) [edit] |
That's right. 72,556 words for the novel as of today. The grand total since February is 127,674 words. Yeah baybee.
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| Title Change? |
| 08.26.05 (7:27 am) [edit] |
It seems I may have to change my title...... I did a search and found: "Snakehead boss arrested in China." So read a recent headline in the South China Morning Post, Hong Kong's premier English language newspaper. A snakehead is a Chinese people smuggler. They move their human cargo via boat and truck to Japan, Russia, Europe and as far away as Canada and the United States. Oftentimes the people are treated abysmally and sometimes, as in Peter May's fourth China mystery, they don't survive.
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| Progress, or Something Like it. |
| 08.25.05 (5:32 pm) [edit] |
As you may know I am currently working on a novel called Snakehead. Snakehead is approaching 65,555 words. I write one more word and there we are. To be sure, I write stuff, and then rewrite it, edit it (Note the commas? I love commas. Commas are what fish poo looks like. When I see commas in tanks I know everyone is on schedule, the train is leaving the station. Etc. ) A Snakehead is a particularly nasty fish, native to Southeast Asia, that is cardinal red with two black racing stripes down its sides. What makes it "nasty" is that it is singularly the fish that kills for the sheer joy of killing. It kills more than it can eat. Just because it can.
Yes, I know. Let us see the hard copy in Borders. Not too far off. As a writer, my next issue is: what do I do for an encore? What now? I have struggled, (there, another one!) wrestled with it. I got it. The next novel is titled "When Monday Comes". It is a story about a serial killer. A serial killer that the authorities are trying to stop.... eventually..... because they have reasons to want to be on other cases, reasons to want to "overlook" the murders. I don't want to give away too much here. BUT.... I am excited. It involves serial killers - dogs - redemption... all my favorite themes.
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| Weird Rituals |
| 08.23.05 (5:17 pm) [edit] |
I called this post "weird rituals" because there are a number of things that happen every day in a particular order before I do what I do. I write. After I write in longhand 3 pages with a particular pen, and after I determine the word of the day and when I have turned on the sound machine, fed the puppies and fishies. _ I have written a series of short stories in a particular format. I have written stuff that fit no particular genre for much of my life, beginning in the third grade when I won the prize for that fabulous story about Halloween that garnered me a First Place Ribbon!
I can write for magazines, fiction and nonfiction. I can write short stories. To date I have a bunch of them - One collection called Ten Ten Tens. Another collection called Fish Stories, getting ready to submit for potential publication. Sometimes when one shakes the cosmic apple tree, one is pelted with oranges. I wrote "Shark and Remora" after "Mullet". There were, of course, other fish stories in between. I started a short story, (still not complete, in progress, about bettas called Boys in Prom Dresses.) It will get there! Really!
When I was looking around for the inspiration for another Fish Story, the Snakehead showed up. I never heard of a snakehead. A snakehead is a fish, a beautiful cardinal red fish with two black racing stripes down it's sides. It is an unusual fish... It kills more than it can eat. It kills for the sheer joy of killing.
"Snakehead" the novel is currently sitting at 62K words. Daily I cull, daily I elaborate, daily I get closer to the pentultimate conclusion. It is a novel of suspense, it is (I hope) chilling, intriguing, beguiling and compelling.
Watch for it coming soon to a Borders or Barnes and Noble near you. I promise a ride. Don't even try to figure out the ending. It's too sick.
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| 60Thousand Words |
| 08.21.05 (7:31 am) [edit] |
Snakehead has broken the 60K mark. I think I might need a nap.
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| Snakehead - the novel |
| 08.18.05 (5:05 pm) [edit] |
In the event that any of you were wondering... yes, the novel is coming along swimmingly. I lug it around with me to prove it is real. I post portions in places where people who know where to put commas can read it and let me know what they think. Of course, poor Boo is subjected to its growth daily. It is fine. Thank you very much. I appreciate that.
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| Celebrate This Day |
| 08.13.05 (6:04 pm) [edit] |
I celebrate this day
Outside my home (and I have one) I hear the tree frogs singing. For them, for my home, I celebrate this day. Around my feet my sleepy dogs lay. For them, I celebrate this day. I walked out back and viewed what it looked like from that perspective. That I have such a view, am afforded such a rare privilege as to have one, I celebrate this day. I am enriched, enlightened, and grateful to have this particular day. I celebrate this day. On such a day eighteen years ago, we met and began a most amazing journey across several lifetimes. I celebrate this day.
This is, would have been, is, and forever will be, the birthday of my beloved husband who died nearly six years ago. I celebrate this day.
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| Betta Fish |
| 08.10.05 (5:29 pm) [edit] |
My fishies are all doing well. I have learned a lot from my new friends who have been doing this for years. Each of my fish (SEVEN as in Deadly Fins) is in a bowl of a gallon of spring water with a bit of plant and a hidey hole.
Some of them were in kind of bad shape when I got them. There is a common theme in pet stores that these fish can live through almost anything. We heard recently that they could do fine in a plastic cup of water for up to two months. The truth is that hundreds of generations ago these fish were the kind of fish found in very slow moving rivers that were shallow, in southeast Asia.
To be sure, a child might survive living in a mud hut with a cup of rice every other day. But that doesn't make it right. A dog or cat might survive against nearly insurmountable odds outside in the heat, cold, and hurricanes. That doesn't make it right.
My fishies will be spoiled with clean clear spring water. The people on the boards talk about clean water as if it were a miracle drug. It must be. My first fish, POODLE! is a deep cobalt blue guy. When I brought him home a couple of weeks ago his tail was raggedy and torn. I have watched him recover in his happy place with his votive candle holder and plants and under a magnifying lens his tail, which previously was a cause for concern is now spotless and smooth.
I don't claim to be any kind of guru. This I do claim: I know these folks know what they are talking about and I am paying attention. Rapt attention. For the time being, I feel confident my fishies are well and happy
A wise man once told me that life was too short to go around repeating the mistakes of others. He said that the reason there was an eraser on the end of a pencil was that we all make mistakes. He also said that, just like a pencil, you make too many mistakes you lose your ass.
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| Good Fish |
| 08.09.05 (6:06 pm) [edit] |
My fish are good. In order of appearance there are: POODLE! an India ink black orchid whose tail splits have healed nicely.
2. Betta carotene -bad mamma jamma. Might have some tail issues. Treating same.
3. Michaelangelo - busy building the perfect bubble nest for the babes.
4. Sabine- the answer to Boo's Griffin's love prayer.
5. Savannah - the pink lacy hat of all southern belles.
6. Delta Dawn - Savannah's sister, mystical grrrl who stole mah heart.
and last but so not least... the little blue grrrrrl... the one what rock my world. The one who makes me reminisce of Esther Williams. The one, the only..... ready? She's just a little tiny one inch of fishie wonderfulness.... my favorite.....
OneFishTwoFishRedFish.
Ahhh!!!! The crowd roars!!!!
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| 57,718 Words |
| 08.08.05 (12:40 pm) [edit] |
So that is the water line for the day. 57,718 and rising.
I sent it out to one of my writers groups and they gave me some critiquing. I worked on chapter one again today. You know how if things are not happening rapidly you lose interest? In chapter one there are:
2 job changes, 1 abortion but 3 pregnancies, 1 party but 3 mentions of parties, 1 wedding, 2 household moves, 1 business move, 4 affairs and one case of love at first sight. The only crimes committed so far are very minor, maybe a little pot.
Nobody has died yet. That comes after chapter 2: in which there are 3 teenagers dead within the first 5 pages. There is a saying that all novels are about death. In this one so far there are 8 - or is it nine. The body count could go up. There are enough lawyers to justify picking a few off. A doctor might go. Then again, there is one in prison for life and he tries to do himself in and nearly succeeds.
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| 56K |
| 08.05.05 (10:25 am) [edit] |
The Novel is at 56,326 words. That is a lot of typing. That is a lot of words.
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| Seven Deadly Fins |
| 08.03.05 (5:36 pm) [edit] |
Seven Deadly Fins
What makes a fishie really greedy? Ah. Yes. Give me a little more room. A slightly larger footprint – not so much deep as it is wide. There. Now you have it. A little more. Just a little bit. More.
Oh they are so lethal! Just ask them! Give them opportunity and they will show you! Let them at the guy or gal in the next tank. Just one little moment…. Greed.
YES! Just let me eat my fill of bloodworms! Let me show you gluttony. Oh yeah baybee… a few more brine shrimpies. Now you’re talkin’. Bring on the bloodworms and don’t’ be so stingy.
LUST! Yes! That little chica looks like she would love nothing more than for me to build a bubble nest and fertilize her eggs.
Pride, why do you ask? Have you not seen me flare? Have you not seen the fins of fear?
Envy – I ask you. Why does HE get the bigger tank? Is it due to sloth? This freakin pisses me off. He does not seem to care one iota. He does not notice. He doesn’t create a bubble nest.
Oh yes, it is Sloth. I get this tank, these shrimpies, that gal over there, because I am what I am. Why should I have to perform any physical labor. Get used to it.
Wrath? You need to ask? They get the goodies, they get the grrrls, they get the noshes. I get a couple of round balls of hardness tossed daily into my somewhat chlorinated ammonia laden, heavy metal laden, little only slightly larger than vase o’ death in a window of dust and pollen. You let me get at them, I am on them like white on rice. Like ugly on frog.
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| First lines, cont'd |
| 08.03.05 (6:28 am) [edit] |
This is the opening to another chapter - (they aren't yet in order..... the knitting together all the stuff part is proceeding, albeit SLOWLY.)
It’s like those scenes in movies. You’ve seen them, with the perfectly spaced dominoes all carefully lined up in rows going up and down ramps in swirling patterns. The first one is toppled, and it starts the chain reaction and the camera faithfully follows the action, follows as the long chain of dominoes fall. The camera never ever pans back to the fallen dominoes. No. The drama is in the falling. I should know.
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| First Sentence |
| 08.02.05 (4:58 pm) [edit] |
While it is true she could be considered a dreamer, she never, not even once, dreamed of being a physician, or a killer, not that they were mutually exclusive.
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| Betta I’m Amazed-Part Deux |
| 08.02.05 (1:16 pm) [edit] |
Betta I’m Amazed-Part Deux
Who knew? I wrote recently of my fish history. That was the day that I got POODLE! a beautiful boy of the veil tail variety in black orchid. Then there was Griffin, who resides at the House of Boo. Then, there was that day that Betta Carotene used his Jedi powers to entice me to take him in all his tie-dyed, corkscrewed ventral finned glory home to flare at POODLE! and dance his Wavy Gravy dance for me.
POODLE! is my thesaurus fish. Betta Carotene is my descriptive fish helper. If I am trying to describe the way a room felt, Betta Carotene is the guy to go to. He is all about feelings.
Then I got this information that there was a place where one might find fishies that were different from the kind one typically sees in your LFS (Local fish store). I went there, I saw, I learned, I bid. I won. A nice man named Ying who is descended from the Hmong people http://www.jefflindsay.com/Hm... whose existence I was oblivious about until I began exchanging emails with Ying.
Ying and I arranged for the transfer of the little blue guy and his sister and another little grrrrrl fishie so that it was at least as stress free as could be managed. They were not fed over the weekend so that they would not have to ride around in their own excrement. Fish do not do well in ammonia and they do pee. The box in which they arrived is small, dark, and hot. I opened it, after the mailman tossed it around a couple of times cheerfully oblivious to the “THIS SIDE UP” warnings all over it. The FRAGILE meant about the same to him. I took the box from him and signed for it. I told him it contained fish. He thought I was making it up. I invited him to stay while I opened the box. Now, I had expected Ying to send my butterfly blue boy (Michaelangelo) and his sister (a marbled grrrl who still has not told me her name) and a pink Plakat grrrl who looks like a summer hat (Savannah). Three fishies in a box. But noooooooooooooo! Ying wanted to make sure that I was happy. So he included “extras” Two grrrrls. One is the blue grrrrrl who is sibling to Michaelangelo and his sister the marble grrrrrl and another grrrrl who is Savannah’s sister. Her name is Delta Dawn.
Within a couple of hours I had everyone settled in and fed bloodworms. And then I noticed that Delta was struggling. She was sinking to the bottom, belly up, bottom up and it looked very very bad. This is not the kind of thing one wants to see, her fishies little pink belly rolling upwards. I was getting kind of worried that I would have to euthanize her. For those who want to know, the humane way to do that involves clove oil, available at drug stores for toothache. It is not advisable to toss them down the toilet. Some might say “out of sight, out of mind” Not so much.
I contacted my fishie friends who have much more experience with this sort of thing. I remembered the advice, that clean water cures a lot. So I took out as much as I could and replaced it with fresh water from a spring. No chlorine, no ammonia, no nitrites. And I waited. It has now been about 4 hours and where I saw a grrrl getting ready to toss in the towel I now see a pink fishie swimming about her hospital room checking out the plant. I swear. Betta I’m amazed.
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| Betta I'm Amazed |
| 08.02.05 (11:52 am) [edit] |
Betta I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you Betta I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time Hung me on a line Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you
Betta I’m a finless biped and maybe I’m a lonely biped Who’s in the middle of something That he doesn’t really understand Fishie I’m a biped and maybe you’re the only fishie Who could ever help me Betta won’t you help to me understand
(lead solo)
Betta I’m a biped and maybe I’m a lonely biped Who’s in the middle of something That he doesn’t really understand Fishie I’m a biped and maybe you’re the only fishie Who could ever help me Betta won’t you help me understand
Betta I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you Betta I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song You right me when I’m wrong Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you
(chorus no words)
(lead solo)
(chorus no words) (fades away)
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| Hellhounds in Poodle Suits |
| 08.01.05 (3:54 pm) [edit] |
This is NOT what I had in mind. When I visualized what life might be like with a couple of regal standard poodles in basic black (always slenderizes me) I saw myself with two very elegant, well coifed dogs in rhinestone collars casually walking calmly beside me through the downtown streets. I visualized the light woven color coordinated leads forming a loose “J” from their neck to my semaphore wrist with it’s Cartier watch. I thought they would hang on my every word.
None of this, other than the coiffure de dogue is factual. Reality is this: imagine two spastic hellhounds in poodle outfits straining at the end of leads, poised in opposite directions at two squirrels in a city park. Hind legs propelling, gripping for traction, said traction kicking up sod clods that rival the ones made by polo ponies do indeed make the mark (that would be me.) Picture moi looking anything but elegant as I “fly the poodle kite” with rope burns up and down my arms which are being pulled at a velocity of 50 pounds of pressure per square inch at a speed approaching the sound barrier. The sound barrier which I have broken screaming “Hey! Cut it out! Colin! Lacy! Stop PULLING!”
These are not your run of the mill everyday pound puppies. Oh no! Pound puppies would look like Lassie compared to these two crack heads. These two purportedly well bred, EXPENSIVE, certified, AKC registered and (get THIS) obedience-trained poodles (who have a reputation for being intelligent, loyal, and very elegant ----- I’ll get back to that one) are singlepawedly removing my shoulders from the ball and socket joint. This is Henry’s fault. It was HIS idea. “I know!” he says, all innocent and light and breezy “let’s take Chuck for a walk after dinner!”
It seems that the hellhounds disguised as poodles DO recognize the significance of a lead. They saw one go on Chuck and Katie bar the door. All bets were off. They became the most pathetic begging mongrels, it seems, who had been beaten nearly to death. They promised with limpid eyes that they would be Gooooooooooooooooood dogs. They, in other words, lied through their teeth. I fell for it. Again.
The lake is nearly a mile around. At about the ¾ mark there is a dog park where they get to run and play somewhat safely without the encumbrance of lead. After the park, when they were hot (90 or so degrees) and tired, the pulling subsided. Henry is correct. If we did this more often they might not rip my arms from the sockets. It is now pleasantly quiet. Everyone but me is asleep. I should go turn on a very loud stereo and toss tennis balls about the living room. It would make them nuts. Serve them right.
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