fine whine

Today was Monday, November 01 and I began my novel bright and early at the stroke of midnight. It was a promising start, even despite my lack of a whole plot (so far) and some other minor details (motive, etc.) but I don't doubt that I can't finish this novel. Or, as I would say, I do not doubt that I cannot finish this novel.

In five days I will embark on a perilous journey, the likes of which I have seen only once before.

I'm going to write 50,000 words (some might consider that a novel) in thirty days or less. This year I intend moreover to write fifty thousand words of fiction, not three thousand words of fiction, forty thousand complaining about being stuck at three thousand, and seven-odd thousand of fictionalized weirdness just to pad things out to the target.

This time around I have a better idea, a longer story and, if I do it, an outline to follow. I've got five days to make that outline.

Tonight was the first of probably two or three local meetings of the other foolish writers in town. It was everything I expected it to be other than half an hour short, which wasn't that much of a problem for me. I threw in my requisite two or three jokes and tried to be sociable and whatnot with the others, most of whom I will not see until the end celebration.

I think I'm okay with that. Now, to that outline ...

What's the fastest way to get to the hospital? Stand in the middle of the road.

Today was something of a rough day for me. That so-called joke was courtesy of me, circa some fifteen years ago.

As I go slowly through the boxes of my childhood stacked in my "computer room" I've come across a number of odd and interesting things. I found high-bounce balls that have cracked. I found incomplete model cars. I found a great many bookmarks, none of which I have ever used more than once. I found plastic knickknacks and puzzles that I'd forgotten and discarded. I found a tape recorder missing several crucial pieces. I also found a couple cassette tapes that were immediately obvious as to their contents.

You see, my parents had given all of us kids tape recorders (and some inherited creativity and imagination) and the desire to use them at an early age. There are probably ten or fifteen cassette tapes floating around bearing our youthful voices in pseudo-comedic sketches and fake commercials.

Well, this particular tape was mostly me solo, and as I listened to it in the car I was not impressed. The twenty odd minutes I heard along the way to the used games and movies place were downright horrible, replete with horrible timing, transparent voice imitations and 130-in-1 Electronics Kit sound effects. Did I mention that most of the "funny" stuff was cribbed from elsewhere, including, if I recall, a number of bad joke books.

Hence the joke at the beginning of this; it's the only thing in the entire forty-odd minutes that made me laugh.

Forty-odd minutes is a long time to be just listening to a cassette tape, and I was in fact also driving at the time. You see, earlier today Jessica and I were out on a mission to get some shelving (and groceries) and maybe even a broom handle (mission accomplished!) whereupon we also went a bit out of the way to drop in on a used cd/dvd/video game place. I had a coupon for getting a free whatever if I bought another whatever of equal or greater value, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

Passing up a nice set of EPs by Belle & Sebastian (because I could find nothing else near it in price to get for free) I finally settled on The Simpsons: Road Rage and Gauntlet: Dark Legends (yes, yes, I know, Scott) for the PS2 for well under the price most places would charge, so I bought them.

It wasn't until I got home that I opened the cases and realized the discs were still at the store. Color me embarrassed.

I'd also not brought along the two Blockbuster rainchecks we had for The day after tomorrow and Man on fire (neither of which I'd be likely to watch if not for the fact that they're free).

So I ate some food and headed back over there to pick up my games. I'd grabbed the cassettes as an afterthought, realizing it'd be easier to listen to them than surf the radio through the north side of Columbus.

So I already feel like an idiot for not checking the games. I always check stuff like that. Always, always. I even look in the ones I check out at the library. Evidently I'd neglected to do so this time. Anyway I was feeling like an idiot and listening to the high-pitched voice of young Mike, whom I could just picture huddled over my little boombox with the box of miscellaneous pieces (which would provide the sound of breaking glass or an automobile crash) and Electronics Kit at hand. Too bad I hadn't prepared any funny material, because this stuff was painfully unfunny. There have been atrocious Saturday Night Live sketches that caused people to gouge out their eyes to stuff in their ears that were better than this.

Let's just say that my self esteem was not at an all time high.

The store clerks remembered me and found the discs, sending me on my way with a bonus five dollar coupon for my troubles.

I was so touched by their kindness, or annoyed by my lack of comedy, that I forgot again to stop by Blockbuster. Monday's not even until tomorrow.

Ah, good old IRC. I idle part of my workday in the #last.fm.chat room. Last.FM's been having some troubles, software- and hardware-wise lately, and the regular flash-based chatroom client hasn't worked in a week or two. Those of us who have braved the arcane ways of mIRC have found our way back into the chat room and continued pretty much as normal, chatting-wise and cracking wise, as it were.

The only problem? There's only about three of us. For that matter there are about six regular chatters when it works, but now it's down to pretty much me and my pal Heep now.

We're rapidly running out of things about which to chat these days, so, well, ...

<Heep> my toes are killing me right now
* eating_codger is now known as Heeps_toes
* Heep loves sandals but doesn't feel right wearing them to work for some reason
* Heeps_toes kills Heep
<Heep> lol
* Heeps_toes is now known as codger
<codger> sorry, it was too easy
<Heep> indeed
.
.
.
* Heep is now known as _
<_> oops
<_> LOL this nick rules
* codger is now known as nick
* nick is now known as Heep
<Heep> VICTORY
<Heep> IS
<Heep> MINE!
<_> bah!
* Heep is now known as victor
* _ is now known as Emperor_Mike
* victor gets the spoils
* Emperor_Mike is now known as how
* how much wood could a woodchuck chuck
<victor> indeed
* how is now known as it
* it is amazing how many crazy ideas we come up with
* victor is now known as how
<how> how many roads must a man walk down?
<how> argh
<it> mwahaha
* how embarrassing
<it> LOL
<how> :)
* it is now known as indeed
* indeed it is
* how funny was that?
* indeed is now known as very
* very funny
* how original
<very> hmm I wonder, if you picked a good enough word, if you could say everything with /me statements like that
* very is now known as the
* how is now known as and
* the program allows for many possibilities
* and yet it still seems to be lacking something
* the objective I have it to stump you so there is no possible way you can reply with your current nick
* and yet you fail
* the game is only just beginning
* and what an auspicious beginning that is
* the will always be more useful than "and"
* and that wasn't even a sentence
* the previous statement was indeed a sentence!
* and did you know that entire languages exist without a corresponding "the", yet almost all have an "and"?!
* the word "the" is more useful for starting sentences though
* and in fact the starting of sentences with "and" is largely frowned upon
* the same applies to the word "but"
* and "because" too
* the rules of English therefore favour me
* and yet common usage is rife with "and ..." sentences
* the blabberings you are sputtering are just jealousy of my superiority
* and and yet you have yet to have the last word
* the previous statement by you could be considered a "foul" because of poor grammar
* and I would agree
* the game is therefore playing out in my favour
* and yet it continues
* the real bummer is that we don't have an active audience
* but has joined #last.fm.chat
* but does that matter?
* and yet you *do* have a point
* that has joined #last.fm.chat
* that could be considered cheating
* and so could "that"
* but who's keeping track?
* the cheating on my part is acceptable, however, since you did it first
* and your point is...?
* that is actually quite a useless word in this game
* the ability to use quotations around my name would have been useful in that statement to make it grammatically correct
* and we all know how important correct grammar is to the current discussion
* that is true
* and now you agree with me
* the score is then even
* but who's keeping track?
* that guy over there
* and yet we have no sense of points or accomplishment
* that is because we have no reward
* and yet we continue, undaunted
* the only reward is to know which article is most useful
* and the only article in question is "the", since "a" and "an" are conspicuously absent
* that is true
* and you know it
* the word I used should have simply been "word"
* but what is truth?
* and how would "word" be better?
* the absence of lies
* the word "word" would be better since it would be more general than "article"
* and that's the best you can do? "the absense of lies"?
* that makes sense though
* and now it's clear to me what you meant
* the joke was slowly interpreted
* and yet I was referring to your "word" versus "article" statement
* that was an incorrect reference
* and the ball's still in your court
* the problem is knowing what to do with the ball
* and it's your problem, too
* that was a cheesy response
* and yet it worked
* the game could theoretically go on forever
* and yet you and I both know it won't
* that is because I eventually must leave
* but then I'd "win", wouldn't I?
* the end could be postponed
* and you wouldn't want that, would you?
* but what about the other chatters, if ever there are any?
* that is not of our concern
* and why not? We, after all, account for more than half of this room at the moment
* but that will change, as I have a meeting at 3pm
* that is exactly my point. We dwarf them.
* but what a hollow victory, no?
* the file I'm currently inputting has taken me an hour so far, when they normally take 3 minutes
* that is because I've been chatting
* and yet my productivity is unchanged
* but it hasn't been that great anyway
* the game should be wrapped up soon
* and and then we'll go our separate ways and deny that this ever happened. Russ, though, will remember
* but there I did it again
* that is another foul for you
* and I hang my head in shame, again
* the shame is on me as well, as you have not seen how many times I typed "/the" and was saved by a syntax error...
* and didn't even know that would cause a syntax error
* but I forgot the "I" in the last sentence there
* the game is starting to get the best of us
* that is not good
* and I'm getting really sloppy
* but what does it matter, in the end?
* the chair I'm sitting on just startled me because I accidentally pulled the height lever and dropped to the floor
* the end is announced
* the is now known as Heep
* and I feel fine
<Heep> LOL
* and is now known as codger
* but has quit IRC (Quit: )
<codger> 'twas funny
* that has quit IRC (Quit: )

Okay, so it isn't that funny, but at the time it was hilarious.

Friday I had so much fun reading my "novel" that I finished it today (reading, that is), clandestinely, and have decided that I want to clean it up and publish it. On Cafepress, of course, so that I can buy a copy of my own book without laying out all the cash involved with having a real print run. So now I just need to fix all of the errors, write a foreword (I have the dedication already) and colophon, and make a cover for it. This should be fun.

Today I had the distinct pleasure of trying out a new restaurant before the rest of the riff-raff. The joint was called Abuela's and they just put one in at Easton Town Center. A co-worker hooked me and six other people up with an invite to an exclusive training event for their servers (and their assistants) and cooks. Though I am something of a picky eater (so I am told) I managed to stuff myself silly and enjoy every bite of it. The appetizer was something of a soupy cheesy sauce that had stuff floating in it. We dipped chips into it and the lucky ones came up with shrimp included in the tasty goop. For the main course I had beef fajita tacos with everything but the meat on the side, which is to say, on a separate plate so I didn't need to eat it. The meat was fantastic. I didn't do so much with the refried beans that came with the dish but I did eat a goodly amount of the potatoes-and-stuff. I heartily recommend it as a good Mexican restaurant, though I really have no basis on which to make that statement since I've probably only ever eaten at three or four. Still, it's good.

The iced tea's top notch, though they provide only sugar and Sweet-n-Low. No Equal or Splenda, if that matters.

Lunch took about an hour and a half, and when the time came to return to the office it was with a satisfied smile on my face, a full belly and a complete lack of desire to do any work that I arrived at my desk. I did some cursory work answering emails and working on some Micrografx sketches, but anytime the urge arose to do something else I snuck glances at the "novel" I wrote back in November. There's a lot to read there, fifty thousand words and all. It wasn't nearly as bad as I had remembered, though it was excatly as scattershot, unfocused and pointless as I knew it to be. And it was rife with typos, from silly mispellings to words stuck to each other to aborted sentences mashed up with ones that were allowed to live.

But in between the errors and the sentences beginning with "And" and "But" I found more than a few well-written clauses and phrases and the occasional joke that made me laugh out loud.

Quietly, that is, as there were still a couple people around trying to get something productive done.

In an attempt to save you the trouble of actually reading all of it (at least until I clean it up and format it better), I've excerpted what I consider to be funny and well-written, or failing that, worth excerpting.

• 500 measly words. I have written exactly 500 words about Murray. It's a start, though, and not too bad for about a half hour of real concentrated effort. If I can maintain this rate I'll be a winner in just over two days of writing. Not too shabby, I'd say. But I'm going to stop now to make a sandwich, I think, since the eggs weren't enough and I need to be civil to my wife and anyone else I bump into today. Civil, even jovial, becuase I'm sure I'll be tossing the fact that I'm writing a novel into whatever conversations I encounter. This should be fun.

• I have a noir story I started in sixth grade that will forever be unfinished, leaving the gumshoe surrounded by menacing thugs and a gun pointed at him. Not a good position to be in, though I bet he'd be more motivated to work on a novel than I am right now. I fear that I need to lie to my coworkers tomorrow about my wordcount.
• Nuking the whole planet would be about the most definite way to eliminate all possible competition. Unfortunately such a move would also wipe out all potential customers. Such is business, I suppose.
• Now I'll have to look up rainforest stuff, unless I relegate the trees and such to background as far as my characters are concerned. A tree's a tree to Murray, I just decided, and I'm not going to Clancy-fy the novel by detailing the flora and fauna to death. I need word count, but I'm not going to pad it with a bunch of stuff I'd be pulling off of Google; nor would I want the burden of fabricating an entire ecosystem. I'll leave that for the companion novel starring Bob the botanist or some such nonsense.
• I don't want to pattern my novel after ones that I didn't like, though. I've never seen or read Gone with the wind but I imagine the burning of the city at the end isn't exactly a good thing for anybody, so that's maybe a decent downer example.
• Seeing as this planet's so nature-aware, though, its inhabitants aren't interned in coffins or mausoleums but effectively chucked naked into the dirt. After a tasteful ceremony, that is. I'm all for such a thing so I would carefully describe it only in the most favorable terms. Incidently it is this that I hope is done with my remains when I die, or so I say now. This novel isn't leaglly binding, though, and would serve little purpose as my will and testament. That would be a marketing coup: a first novel slash last will and testament. But only if it is well written.
• Eat your heart out, Stephen King. And then eat that one you keep in the jar on your shelf, you sick bastard.
• Some books I'd really like to hear a commentary track, but would I want to hear it or more appropriately read it? Why would reading it be more appropriate?
• So I have thirty nine thousand words to write in just about thirteen days, which works out to just about three thousand words a day. So logical, and yet so daunting. I will not be daunted, though, for I am pretty sure that daunt is not a transitive verb. I will have to look into this, as if this writing thing doesn't work out I can always go around daunting people. Or things, whichever it ends up that can be daunted, again if such is possible.
• Just before that year ended, I stumbled across a microwave in the alleyway. Stumbled over, more, but this is my story and I'm damned if I am going to come off as a klutz.
• There I go, fictionalizing again. My couch wasn't lead-lined, my walls were. Ha ha ha.
• Good words like this don't vote along party lines but stick with their convictions and never split infinitives either. They don't start sentences with "And" or "But" but they don't look down on those that do. These are the words that cannot be corrupted, no matter how much money or sex you throw at them, but are easy to spell and unambiguous of pronunciation. They will loan you five bucks whether you need for a root canal or just booze, and they never use apostrophes to pluralize. These are the words that I will be using tonight.
• After 3115 words and some time had passed I had forgotten the whole thing.
• So here I had a device that could sort macaroni by some measure of quality, or some quality of measure.
• I vaguely remember references to G.I. Joe shows ending with a safety tip, generally along the lines of "It isn't safe to do what you just saw us doing on television. We're fighting COBRA and you are just a kid, a wimpy little kid who can't even fight his little sister and win, let alone a strange and bizarre yet large and powerful crime syndicate led by a shadowy figure whose face we never see. And that's just Inspector Gadget. I can't imagine you would try anything on his show, since he's always sticking fingers in odd places and makeing impossible things pop out of others. And that whole telescoping neck and eyes thing? So unreal. I can't believe you watch that crap, kid. You should be outside playing with your friends. In traffic. But look both ways, you hear?" and so on.
• At the same time I should probably include some real content instead of this blathering on and on, but the night is not getting any younger nor am I getting any more creative.
• ...and as it is being shown that he was having a nightmare (perhaps again with flashback) Murray takes center stage. Or better yet he's on the side of the frame, so as to make making a full frame DVD of this film that little bit more difficult.
• I might even make him more productive in the dream, but cannot be sure what that would say about him above and beyond the whole not getting up from the desk bit. This little tidbit would of course not be made apparent to the audience so they would thing that I am a cinematic genius no matter however each person interprets it.
• Then again I tend to have strange dreams: I have dreamed of being a staircase not once but twice, and apparently staircases see in black and white.
• Now you Fruedians can have a field day with that, go right ahead. And while you're at it, go read a better book, one with real veiled references and subliminal and unconscious desires and whatever. This novel doesn't even have a plot line, let alone anything else hidden between the lines. Though if you come up with anything, go ahead and send it over to me.
• For a Microsoft product, though, I found it to be very polite in this way of telling me its utter uselessness. Safari was not even rude, choosing the path of "if you have nothing good to say, then say nothing at all" or however the mantra of the really nice and the really silent goes.
• I can only backpedal on this point so far, so I will stop. If I remember correctly, pedaling backward on some bikes makes them stop; at least the one I had as a child.
• Paul sells tires now, is waiting to become an ordained minister and I do not lie in streets anymore. This novel is not about him, though, but I bet he would be a good supporting character. He is the sort of character that left unchecked could easily sidetrack the narrative and end up taking over the story.
• Actually, you do not have to believe me. By definition of this being a novel, you cannot believe me completely as at least some of this has to have been fictionalized. By definition I am lying to you somewhere in this crisscrossing and wayward text, leading you down corridors of deceit and untruth, but fear not, lying is the worse that I will do to you. Nothing in this book should scare or frighten you... Your trips to the basement, even the side not as finished and with the noisy furnace, confoundingly low duct work and crazily angled floor, the one with the clown suit hanging in the dim light of a below ground window, will be uneventful and you will stroll, not sprint up the stairs. This is not by design but lack thereof. I cannot be expected to create terror when I cannot muster the effort to dredge a mere plot up from the depths, so rest easy, dear reader, you will be able to easily rest, even with the lights off.
• It amounts to forty eight thousand words of whining about some two thousand that didn't follow themselves up with any better material. I can't say that I could write something like this, but know well that I would never want to. Having suffered through it, I think I know the guy as well as he thinks he knows himself, and really, I almost pity him. Let him put that on the cover of the paperback, maybe it will sell some copies out of sympathy.

Hey, they were interesting to me.