Down to brass tacks then. How have I done this week? Brace yourselves. Go ahead. I’ll wait. *waits* I have written… *fanfare* 13, 853 words this week!! Oh yeah, baby, that is almost DOUBLE my usual and much nearer my hopeful target of 3k a day. I am a very happy and very smug bunny. Not only that but I am well past the 60k mark on ESCAPOLOGY and heading fast for the writing of Part the 4th. How exciting is that?! *stares at you all like an overexcited beaver who’s just found the biggest goddamn tree she’s ever seen in her life*
So yes, I am well on target for perhaps finishing the entire shebang by the end of write-a-thon, if I can somehow persuade my kids to stop badgering me long enough to allow the writing of two scenes per day rather than just one! Now yes, I agree, that’s quite the statement. Confident. Ambitious. More than a little crazy. But I think I can made a good show of it. Even if I don’t quite finish the puppy, I’ll be near as dammit and that is not to be sneezed at by gumbo! This is fast writing for me!
I’ve really ploughed on this week. Even on days where I felt I just couldn’t write a word, I’ve pushed and prodded and most times eventually found several thousand waiting in me. Only on Tues did my prodding fail and only produce 400 or so words, but the thing is, they were good ones, and when I came to them the next morning, the scene practically wrote itself. On Friday all I wrote was Umwelt. I haven’t included that in my tally above because I promised I would only include words written on ESCAPOLOGY. But, if yer interested, Umwelt this week was about 1.3k. I wrote less that day than my best days, but Umwelt is coming to an end and getting tricky. Also, it’s been summer hols since Weds morning and therefore spawn invasion… nuff said.
Now for the excerpt. This week I’m back to sharing bits I’ve written during the week’s work. Mainly because I wanted y’all to catch up with our main protag, Shock. He’s in a bit of a pickle, bless him. He still doesn’t realise how bad it is, but here he is, sitting on a mono, feeling miserable about his lot:
Shock jumps on the coastal mono, on the number .478, carrying him on the scenic route out from where he lives in the slummy, cage apartment blocks of the Alley. The narrow slick of poorly built ‘rises spooning Cash Corner, an equally scummy neighbourhood with slighter larger, less cagey hell holes. He couldn’t afford those, so he had to bunk in the Alley with the oldsters. Going down in the world. No prizes for what’s on the next rung below this. Six feet under. Or it would be if the Gung buried its dead instead of burning them.
Sat at a window seat, sipping his coffee, Shock watches the gulls wheeling far below, between the cliffs at the edge of the Gung and the equally steep sides of ‘scrapers built along the cliffs with little regard for safety or regulations. The gulls’ screams are distant cries for help. He can relate. Everything inside of him is screaming, a whole colony of gulls from pelvis to collarbones, lining his ribcage in messy, shit-shellacked disarray.
Over the cliffs, even further down, a furious sea slams white-capped shoulders into jagged rock, the waves huge to his eyes even from all the way up here, hundreds of feet above the ground. For some reason it puts him in mind of the Land Ships. He couldn’t hack that proximity. Those massive waves smashing too close for comfort, spewing salty spray into his face. Leaving his clothes, his hair, his skin, stiff with salty residue. Leaving him beleaguered and bedraggled, and probably suicidal. In which case the ocean would constitute endless temptation. He shudders.
It’s always been dry land for Shock. He’s curious as to how he’ll cope on a hub instead, way up there on the edge of sky and space instead of land and sea. Choice would be a fine thing. To be able to do it out of curiosity alone. But that ship, haha fucking pun, has long since sailed. Or sunk. Whichever way you want to look at the glass. Right now, to Shock’s bleary eyes, it’s definitely half empty and suffering from a big old crack in the side that last half of hope is leaking out of too damned fast. If only he could put a metaphorical plaster on his metaphorical glass, but he reckons only optimists get those.
And there we leave him. He is misery-guts, isn’t he? But to be fair to the poor bastard, he sort of has reason. I only hope he can rise above his self-pity when the occasion calls for it, and it will. We shall see.
That’s all for the Clarion update this week. There’s still a week to sponsor me here and get yourself a free piece of flash whilst giving Clarion help to continue being awesome! Please consider it. They are a fabulous organisation.
Now to my other news. 🙂 The magnificent Pablo Cheesecake (link is to his twitter – FOLLOW HIM – or I will sing to you that marvellous song from Sister Act, and you know I will, I LIKE nuns), or Paul Holmes as he’s rather more normally known, runs a rather wonderful review site called The Eloquent Page. Lately the ingenious fellow has been running a series of interviews with various authors, wherein they are asked the same series of questions. The results have been fascinating. I volunteered to be one of the authors thus grilled, and my answers are up upon this very day! Oh my! Go read them, and see how very little goes on in this ridiculously disordered bonce of mine *SQUIRREL* and I shall be eternally grateful. You can read eet here. The Eloquent page also has a twitter page, here, follow that too. DO EET. In fact, to show you how serious I am…here are some singing nuns: