A Dozen Times None, Or How Will I Choose?

 

Oops, I did it again.

The year was 2009. I was SUPER-UNEMPLOYED, and had been so for a year, at that point. I was encouraged by some sadistic friends to try NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. The premise is simple: writers are challenged to write a 50,000-word novel (that's a novella, really, but let's not quibble) in one month. I was successful, and for better or worse, I was hooked. Soon, there was a summer version of the traditional November event: Camp NaNoWriMo. A little over a month ago, I stopped writing my twelfth first draft. It's not done, but if we're being honest, are any of them?

So. I have self-imposed a rule on myself. No more new projects (National Blog Posting Month notwithstanding) until I make an honest effort to get one of my twelve babies to see the light of day. But Which one gets the call? 

November 2009. Working title: "Tiny Scars." It's a semi-autobiographical tale of a sixth-grader with a genius friend, and a cool teacher who produces plays that turn out a lot better than they have any right to turn out. There's also weeklong trip to a  camp that's oddly religious, for a public school trip, but whatever. Here's an excerpt.

November 2010 - the month I started working at Beloved Employer. Working title: "Worcestershire In The Embalming Fluid." If you're a fan of "South Park's" first season, you know from the title that this is a zombie story. We follow a lottery-winning slacker and his dog on their new boat, as they gradually learn what's happened and try to work their way home from the Caribbean. The dog is probably the best part. I just reread an excerpt, and meh.

August 2011. Working title: "Sand In The Worcestershire In The Embalming Fluid." Same zombie apocalypse, but told through the lens of a budding semi-comedic romance in off-season Rehoboth Beach. Here's a bit. So to speak.

July 2012. Working title: "Falling Off The Universe." I like this one. It's an ensemble thing - a group of friends gathering after years apart to scatter the ashes of their gone-too-soon former ringleader. They encounter a alien with a busted spaceship, and interstellar shenanigans ensue. The ending needs a complete rework (the whole story needs a lot of work), but the elements are there, and I love some of these characters so much, they keep appearing here in the blog, sharing their ALTERNATE MEMORIES. One of them is also dangerously addicted to COFFEE.

June 2013. Working title: "Buck Mope Catches The Westbound." Not-so-young, freshly laid-off new couple befriends a hundred-year old hobo, creates a viral sensation telling his far-fetched stories online, and tries to help him take a final ride into the sunset, so to speak. The old man has an unexplained endangered black-footed ferret you may have seen on this very blog, this very month. This is the little novel that my ever-lovin' editor and fake alternate elector [Maris] thinks could make it, so it's the clear front-runner for my first publishing attempt. Still needs work, but I loved these characters, too, so I guess I kind of owe it to them.

November 2013. Working title: "Bane's Existence." What was I thinking, starting a new novel just weeks after stopping work on "Buck Mope?" This one's about a guy who questions his own existence, and accumulates a lifetime of evidence to support his theory that he's actually a ghost or something. Also, he dates a ghost. I think. It's been about ten years since I've looked at this one. I faintly remember that it had moments, but probably needs more work that most of my other drafts.

July 2014. Working title: "Undead Drunk." Another zombie thing, but this one set in Baltimore, as another group of friends gathers with their classmates for a high school reunion. Pretty sure I kept this gross horror show as funny as possible. I think I have a whole chapter (or more) with two or three of my protagonists "treed," and just watching the apocalypse and doing play-by-play. Yeah, I hear you. meh.

July 2016. Working title: "Party At Ground Zero." Stolen premise from the hugely-underrated 80s movie "Miracle Mile." A bunch of 80s high schoolers are partying their little 80s butts off, when credible news of a full nuclear exchange crashes their shindig and kills everyone's buzz. So, I love the idea. BUT... I used most of the characters from "Falling Off The Universe," and [spoiler alert]: PREQUELS ARE HARD AND THIS ONE IS DEEPLY UNSATISFYING. Might rewrite this one using new characters.

July 2017. Working title: "Plan Nine From Inner Space." An admittedly half-assed ripoff of the "Futurama" episode where Leela's in a coma and has a series of coma-dreams that turn out to have been triggered by Fry's incessant talking at her, trying to bring her back. It has moments, but yeah - a bit on the meh side.

July 2018. Working title: "Milo And The Art Of Nodus Tollens." This is more like it. Inspired by a list shared by my late cousin Mary M.. Nodus Tollens refers to the realization that the plot of one's life doesn't make sense anymore - that your "writer" might not know what the hell he or she is doing. I came up with another cute and fun couple for this one, and because side characters always steal the show, we invented Deejay Atmospheric Skip. A global wild goose chase ensues, as Milo tries to fix his story himself. This one is near the top of my list, with "Buck Mope" and "Falling Off The Universe."

July 2019. Working title: "Back To Somewhere Else." Based on my never-ending quest with [Maris], in search of the elusive portal back to the world we obviously came from that is somewhere else. I like this one, too. Portals are wily and capricious.

[Long, long pause...]

July 2023. Working title: "Songs From Later." Another rom-y, com-y one. Young "friends with benefits" arrangement turns real (I know - shocker), but one of the lovers has visions of the future. These visions are often vague and annoyingly cryptic, but over time they begin proving true - or at least semi-true (because me) - culminating with September Eleventh, or possibly January Sixth. I wrote through August and September and into October, eventually passing 80,000 words, BUT this one needs a ton of work to make it work, and I'm just not ready to tear it all down and start over, so I'm spending November doing a blog post a day, instead. 

So. When this month's over, which little book gets the nod? Oh, wait - my busy season at Beloved Employer is just beginning. 

Maybe in February, then...

Thankfulnessapalooza 2023 - Part Two (of Three)

Okay, dear readers, let's see if I can find ten more things for which I'm thankful, and not ten things for which I've previously expressed my gratitude on this here blog. [spoiler alert: I think I can!] If you missed part one of this year's list, CLICK HERE!

Okay - let's do this...

Pretty, and loud. TSO in DC, 2022 - photo by Joe

I am thankful for all the concerts I've been fortunate enough to witness. This could be its own long, long post, but let's just list some of the live acts I've seen... Pretenders, Iggy Pop, Art of Noise, Tangerine Dream, Bon Jovi (at Giants Stadium!), KISS, The Who, BRUCE, AC/DC, Depeche Mode, Midnight Oil, Styx, Ian Hunter, Jimmy Buffett, Rush, Yes, Shriekback, The Cure, Peter Murphy, some others I'm not recalling at the moment, and a whole lot of Trans-Siberian Orchestra and Simple Minds.

It's like 2016-2020 all over again - photo by Joe

My workplace "protesters." Most were rescued from the free table, and earlier this year, when we closed our crumbling-but-beloved suburban office, most of them were given away to worthy recipients (local police took some!). A few made the move to the DC office - a move that they are still officially protesting, although I'm pretty sure they secretly love it there.

Thank you for rescuing us! - photo by Joe

Speaking of the closing of my suburban workplace - I rescued these lights from its abandoned patio and moved them to my own. I'm weirdly proud to have them live on in my backyard.

It's... It's indescribably beautiful! - photo by Joe

Okay, this one's a little odd, but whatever. We have a drink cupboard. It is almost never as perfectly fully-stocked as it is in this picture, but on the rare occasions when this happens, it is kind of a work of art, to this beholder.

Hey - I'm FLYIN' here... - photo by Joe

Not much to say, here. I'm thankful for serendipitous fly-by photobombs by shorebirds, when shooting a sunset. 

"Is that a lot?" - photo by Joe

It had been a few years since I bled out a hasty little novel in a month, and I was urged to go for it again (more on the urging later this month, probably), so I did. It needs a LOT of revision, and it's still not done, but it exists. So, yeah. Thanks for the word count, 2023!

"Why isn't Joe here today?" - photo by K. Schrader

Super thankful for our dogs in the workplace program. We have hardly any PEOPLE in the workplace, so there are precious few dogs, but one of my favorites is this little sparkplug named Mabel. Her human sent me this picture a couple of days ago, when I was working from home. I feel so guilty, I might just have to start going to the office every day...

"I'm hungry, and you're gonna be my new person." - photo by S. McVeigh

Speaking of the office - I'm SOOOOO grateful to mark one year since this sweet dude found the perfect home. He was abandoned outside the HSUS building out in the 'burbs, and sort of lurked in our storm drains for a few days before a few of us mobilized to coax him out, catch him, confirm (via his chip and a helpful local vet) that his owners didn't want him back (dicks), and get him into a loving home. One year later, he's pretty much the king of that castle, so it's all good.

Note the snow-free pavement - photo by Joe

Snow. I'm very thankful for snow. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no! I'm an adult now. I have zero use for snow. However... I will grant you that it is pretty, and if it could just snow enough to coat the ground and trees, and leave all paved surfaces wet (no ice, please), then yeah, I could consider being a teensy bit grateful for it.

"Where are the hot buttered rum recipes?" - photo by Joe

Gnomes. How can I not be thankful for these dudes? They're a lot like the thankfulness thing, in that it is increasingly challenging to come up with new ideas for them. Will we do it again, this Christmas? Yeah, we probably will.

Thanks for coming, you three. Four? FIVE??? No, probably not five... but a man can dream. See you tomorrow...

NaBloPoMo: Are We Really Doing This?

November. It's pretty, but it spawns monsters. Photo by Joe & [Maris]

My dear, dear readers (I think there might be FOUR of you, now!) - It is November 1st. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking how impressed you are that I know what month it is. No, that's not it. Some of you might be thinking, "Ah, November - when a writer's fancy turns to thoughts of National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo." I can't blame you for thinking that, and you might also be tempted to think, after this summer's Camp NaNoWriMo project resulted in the spilling of over 80,000 words (and counting), that the bug has re-bitten me and I'll be noveling away at 1,800 words a day throughout this month.

WRONG!

Yes, my writer's pilot light has been relit to some extent in recent months (more on that in a future post), but no - this month, I shall attempt NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month. I've done this once before, and I thoroughly enjoyed it (that's a lie). It's simple enough - just a blog post a day for 30 days. Now I REALLY know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "WHY? Why would anyone attempt such a thing? What is the matter with you?"

Reasons... 

First, what's the matter with YOU? Ha!

Also, because why not? "Because you're not done with your 2023 novel, Joe. That's why not!" Yeah, well, that novel needs so much reworking that my brain does the blue screen of death when I try to think about it. Actually, it's more of a pill bug-style curling up into an impenetrable safety ball type of thing. 

How about because it's hard, and you know how I just adore a challenge. "No you don't! You hate challenges! Hello? You majored in business - and you only recently managed to lose the word 'clerk' from your job title after THIRTEEN YEARS." Huh... well... shut up!

Because I now have twelve first drafts of novels, and some of them might have futures, and that means edits and beta readers and rewrites and editors (are there still editors?) and finding (or creating) a path to publishing, and doesn't all that just sound exhausting? I'd literally rather write 30 blog posts in a month. And yes - I'd do another novel instead, but I have a self-imposed "No more novels until one of those 12 sees the light of day" rule. "That's a silly rule." Shoosh! Also I'm out of ideas.

Because those NaNoWriMo projects have made me entirely too wordy, and I need to relearn how to write compact prose. "No argument here..."

Finally, because it's such a delight to watch myself transform in 30 short days from this:

Look at that happy idiot. Photo by [Maris]

...to this:

Ay Caramba! Photo by Joe

Fun, non? Yeah, I know. I'll go ahead and call "BAD IDEA" right now. But who knows - maybe I'll drop something here that doesn't stink, this month. One note: I promise to only do a hobo story every third day or so. To you two readers who love the hobo stories, I'm sorry. To the other couple of readers, YOU'RE WELCOME!! And if you're still here, my dear [New Reader], I'll try not to be too wordy. I know you're really busy.

Okay. Ready? Are we really doing this? Yes, yes we are. 

Here. We. Go...

The Storm

 

A storm...

"Life is a shitstorm, in which art is our only umbrella."

- Mario Vargas Llosa

 

I've been thinking about New Year's resolutions - my own, and those of my (which here means John Hodgman's) 700 hoboes. Lately, thinking has been a struggle - and creativity, normally one of my core strengths as a human, has become depressingly hard to summon. A few months ago, I scrolled back to the beginning of this blog and reread every post. I cringed at a few lingering typos, and at some clunky prose and even clunkier ideas, but I laughed a lot, and came away feeling pretty good about a lot of it. I also couldn't help but notice that all that fun and frolic and productivity has dropped off rather precipitously since sometime in 2015. Over the past five years, I've managed to peck out about seven little blog posts per year. In the five years before 2016, I averaged 31 (with that drop-off starting in 2015). You might see where I'm going with this.

Oh, tell me you're NOT going to attempt to blame five years of writer's block on the President!

Okay, firstly - it really is a shitstorm, out there. Look:

See? Stormy! Told you!

Secondly - I haven't truly had writer's block. Over those same five years, I did manage to crank out five more of my little Camp NaNoWriMo novels - and one or two of them may even have some potential. And the few blog posts I've emitted haven't been bad. It's just a challenge to create, lately. Joy is in short supply, and hope has been outlawed.

But, yeah. I kinda DO blame my personal creativity drought on the bloviating tangerine Mussolini currently stealing the silverware and setting fire to the White House and the nation, flipping the Monopoly board over as he tantrums his way toward the door. Okay - technically, I blame the storm, but we all know it is partly of his making. You've seen it. It's real. It's everywhere. It's bad. It's a shitstorm. No need to waste time describing it. It started in 2015, and has built and built and built its way to the Category Five monster that rages around all of us, today.

So. What to do? First, I'll find the horizon. Remember that all storms end. Eventually:

Yes, I know the horizon was visible in the first two pics. Shut up.

 

Second, if I can't be funny or creative, then dammit I'm gonna be twisted. Like, baby-hobo-in-a-blender twisted. Here:

America.

That picture will be old enough to rent a car, this year, and it still says more than most of my other photographs. I resolve to get the old Nikon out - and maybe the ancient 35mm Minoltas - and take some weird pictures. There! A resolution! I probably won't do it.

Ooh! Wait! Here come some more!

• If the country continues to burn, I'm gonna toast some marshmallows.
• I will become a better pickpocket, and not get caught all the time.
  
• I guess I'll try (harder) to avoid the plague like the plague.
• Once the smoke clears - and yes, there will be smoke - I'm going to go downtown and take a good, long sniff, just to prove to myself that even the foulest four-year stenches can dissipate.
• I will finally find an editor or agent or something, and try to get my 2013 novel published. You guys know anyone?
• I'm going to go through the building where I work, and take down all the calendars. They're all stuck on March 2020, and they make me sad sometimes.
• I will see the stars for what they are, and feel the cumulative age of their light.
  
• Two words: ferrett-juggling. I guess that's one hyphenated word. Whatever. Gonna need one more ferret for this.
• I resolve to get one more endangered black-footed ferret, for the ferret-juggling, if [Maris] says yes.
• [Maris] said no. It'll have to be 2 ferrets and a panda.
• This year, I will find a new place to hang the cute little lighthouse cross-stitch my sister gave [Maris] and me when we got married. The new towels in that bathroom don't quite go with the colors in the cross-stitch, and while it's not a problem at this time, I fear it could become one. UPDATE: [Maris] would rather just change the towels. Crisis averted!
  
• I'm going to get my grilled cedar-plank salmon to turn out as perfectly as my late father-in-law's always did.
• Gonna find my Ebn-Ozn t-shirt.
• Mirrored contacts. I've wanted them since I was fourteen.
• Who am I kidding? I will never get my grilled salmon to come out the way Dad-in-law's did. 
• I resolve to take the Christmas tree down.
• I will learn to like snow. HAHAHAHAHA just seeing if you're paying attention.
  
• Drink more water. I'm not going to do this. I'm telling YOU to drink more water. Please.
• Okay, I'll drink more water, too. There's water in gin, right?
• I will laugh at the typo on my 10 years of service certificate at work, every day - instead of rolling my eyes at it.
• I will demand a better future.
  
• I will stop making lists.
• I will stop making lists.
  
• I will stop repeating myself.
• See what I did there?
  
• And I will hold [Maris]'s hand more - especially when she's trying to type. [blogger's note: on my phone, I have a shortcut set up so that when I type two m's, I get the full [Maris]. I keep trying that on this laptop, and obviously it doesn't work, and it wasn't until about the third try that I realized why.]
• I resolve to be a little smarter, maybe.

Okay, that's all for now. If you're still here, you are a trooper, and I applaud your patience. Thanks for climbing inside my head for a few minutes. It's time for my martini. I will toast to the end of the storm - and to the art that protects us in the meantime...

Photo by mm - see? I did it again! Photo by [Maris]

 

Ten And Oh...

Someday, Buck. Someday...

Hi! I may or may not be back! I've been... well, I've been paying attention to the world, for a bit. This resulted in the abrupt and acute shutdown of Every Single Creative Atom In My Body. But then, in July, I started yet another novel, forcing myself to conjure words, as one might force a foot into an ill-fitting shoe. I had over 50,000 words by July's end, but apparently, there was still a lot more story to tell, at that point. 

So I kept writing.
  

Eleven times, I've taken on this challenge. Ten times, I've succeeded. I first attempted National Novel Writing Month in 2009, as an unemployed layabout, and I "won," which here means I managed to crank out a 50,000-word novel in the span of 30 days. I was immensely proud of that accomplishment, but I had a few more stories to tell - which is more impressive if you know me and my life, both of which are somewhat lacking in story fodder.

Fast-forward to late-November, 2018. Between the traditional November National Novel Writing Months and the summertime Camp NaNoWriMo sessions, I have now written *TEN* novels. More accurately, that's ten first drafts of novels. And two of them - maybe three, now - might have a smidgen of potential. But here's the thing: I've only ever bothered to reread one of them. I've done no real rewrites - only minor self-editing. My beta readers consist of [Maris] and one friend. I have no editor, no agent, no idea what I'm supposed to do next.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I have a vague understanding of what I should do next. I should get some beta readers' notes on my work, engage a professional editor, and find some sort of agent-like thing to move one or two of these stories from my laptop to the world, and metamorphose from writer to author. 

But that just sounds like work. I still have like six hundred hoboes to tell you about. As much as I would love to share some of these longer pieces with you and everyone else, I'd rather just keep writing. Apparently, creating another scene, another character, another happy ending, is more important to me at the moment than is sharing any of the previously-created scenes, characters, and happy endings.

So, we have a problem. Immovable object, I'd like to introduce you to irresistible force. Oh? You've met? That's wonderful. I'm sure you two totally hit it off, like, immediately...

Okay, so, I'm not allowed to write anything new until I've done something with these first drafts. There is work to be done. The fun part is over. It's time to tear down, to rewrite, to market, and to sell, sell, sell.

[sad face]

It only makes sense, right?

Um, nope. It is December of 2018. Look around. Have you seen the universe, lately? I need this - obviously. I will edit if I feel like editing. I'll do rewrites if and when I feel like doing rewrites. And I'll engage editors and agents and lawyers and the market when they all show up on my doorstep and engage ME! And that, as they say, will be that.

In the meantime, I will tell you what Irontrousers The Strong did to deserve his Wes Craven-esque fate. I'll explain why Manatee The Railyard Toreador was so afraid of leaves. I might even describe, in uncomfortably explicit detail, how Swing State Myron acquired his hobo name. And maybe I'll Get All Bloggy, once or twice.

I've been plodding through my story of Milo and Rachel and their "nodus tollens" since July 1st, and while I absolutely love them to bits, I have to re-learn how to tell a story in a thousand words. Or to vent and bitch and tell you what I've been doing or what I should be doing or what I wish I were doing. Or to simply blather on and on without saying anything.

It's my blog, and I'll ruin it as I see fit. What are you gonna do, *START* reading it? 

LOL

Join me for whatever comes next. Or don't. It's all the same to the universe...