The Writing Moment
I haven’t been writing while under the weather, so it’s been a week since I sat in the writing chair. A lot of that was because breathing was a challenge and my nose and eyes were releasing almost constant streams. That didn’t stop me from writing in my head. More than anything, I keep generating new novel ideas. I would scribble notes with a work title and details that came to me. Ended up with five new ideas covering dozens of pages.
Ideas and concepts have never been my problem. Nor dialogue, back stories, settings, or even plots. My challenge is editing and revising the first draft into less than a million pages that others can follow. That’s where I often flail and go on to a new novel. I’ve written fourteen novels, edited and self-publishing three. But the others typically languish in piles or remain as files in a folder. With my most recent novel, I’m being more disciplined about revising and editing. I think that’s in part because I’m happier with its structure, characters, and story.
I look forward to getting back into the writing routine. I hope it’ll be this week but right now, seven inches of snow covers the ground. As with so many things, it’ll be wait and see.
Twozdaz Wandering Political Thoughts
In under-reported news, I discovered that Trump found Sasquatch. He posted a text about it, but the fake news didn’t cover it, probably because they hate him so much.
“It wasn’t hard to find him,” Trump wrote. “Turned out he’s a nice guy, a great guy. So smart, amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes. Then he told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person I’ve ever encountered who just wanted to talk to me. I am so honored to meet you.’”
Trump said he later received a text from Sasquatch on Truth Social, inviting Trump to publicize the meeting. Trump wrote, “I told Footy – that’s what I call him, Footy, because some people call him Big Foot. He does have big feet, really big feet. I don’t call him Big Foot. Because that’s rude, that’s a rude thing to say, a terrible thing to say. So I call him Footy. I told Footy, you have an open invitation to visit me any time, anywhere, day or night. My door’s always open to you.”
Trump also visited Area 51 last week. Area 51 is a top secret military facility where all the aliens who have come to Earth are kept.
Trump reported that he met several aliens.
“Good looking little guys. All green, with big black eyes. Nice guys, great guys, so smart, amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes, me and three of them, four of them. They told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person we’ve ever met who just wanted to talk to us. We are so honored to meet you.’ The aliens told me that they’ve been trying to go public, trying to get out of the secure area, but that Democrat scum wouldn’t let them out. I told them, ‘Don’t worry, little guys, I’ll get you out. I promise you, I’ll get you out. If anyone can get you out, it’s me. I’m better at getting people out than anyone in history. I’ve gotten more people out than anyone else ever has, huge numbers, huge. More numbers than you can imagine. It’s just amazing what I’ve been able to do.”
Continuing his amazing streak, Trump said that he went to Ireland and hunted down some Leprechauns.
In an interview, Trump said, “Good looking little guys. Dressed in green. Nice guys, great guys, so smart, so amazingly smart. We talked about thirty minutes, two, three of them, and me.
“They told me, ‘Sir, you’re the first person we’ve ever met who didn’t try to take our pot of gold.’ They had the pot of gold just sitting there. I noticed it, big, beautiful pot of shiny gold, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I noticed it. How can I not notice something that beautiful? But it’s gold. I’m the wealthiest person in the world. You know that, right? I’m the wealthiest person in the world. First person in the world worth a gazillion dollars. That’s me. The first one. What do I need with more gold? I don’t. I already have most of the gold in the world. I have like 90, 99 percent of it. There’s a little bit I don’t have, but not much, not much. The Leprechauns told me, ‘Sir, go ahead and take our gold. We know you’ll put it to good use.’
“So I took it. I took their gold. Not because I need it but because they invited me to take it. Why shouldn’t I take it? Who wouldn’t take it? It’s not really that much gold. I already have more gold than I know what to do with. I’ve been melting it down, making things out of it. You should see the things I make. Beautiful stuff, beautiful. I show it to people when they visit. I show them all my beautiful gold things that I made. Pens and stuff. Shoes. Computer disks, whatever I see, coffee mugs, razors, stuff like that. Underwear. I’m wearing gold underwear now, did you know that? Gold speedos. Speedos made out of gold. So comfortable, amazingly comfortable. You should wear them. That’s why I walk the way I do. That’s why my posture is so good. My posture is perfect. You’ve probably noticed it. It’s perfect. It’s the gold underwear, the gold speedo. Of course, you have to have the right body to wear gold underwear. You can really only wear it right if you’re perfectly built, like me.
“I also make more practical things. Guns. Bullets. Knives. Golf clubs. I have so much gold, I don’t care. People tell me, ‘Sir, it’s amazing what you do with gold. You truly have the Midas touch. You should put this on display. People would pay to see it.’
“But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to put that stuff on display. I’m too modest. If I wasn’t so modest, I’d probably get more credit for all the great things I’ve already done, and the great things I’m going to do. I’m not like Sleepy Joe Biden, always going around LYING ABOUT WHAT HE DID. That’s not me. That’s why I don’t get enough credit. That’s why I didn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize. Didn’t win the Pulzer Prize, either, what’s it called? The one they give for books? Yeah, the Pulzer. I should’ve won that, too. I’ve written so many amazing books. Beautiful books. I always put them under other people’s names. But they’re like, number one on all the lists. They’re the best-selling books of all times. But I don’t tell anyone that I wrote them. I just write them for fun. I don’t need the money. What do I need with more money? I’m the richest man in the world. Only person in the world worth ten bazillion dollars, did you know that? No, you don’t know that, because nobody gives me credit for how rich I am. That’s because they all hate me. I don’t know why. I think it’s because they’re so jealous of me because I’m so rich and successful. What do you think? Think that might be why they hate me?”
The Writing Moment
I’m still working on a novel. Finished one earlier this year and edit and revise it when free time gestures, do it. Meanwhile, I’m writing another. Thought I’d have it finished by September’s middle. Did. Not. Happen. I wrote an ending but it didn’t work. Yet it did work.
Why it didn’t work… Well, it wasn’t satisfying. None of the characters liked it. Especially the protagonist. You wouldn’t believe her reaction. The Writing Neurons were also pissed by the ending, and also let me know.
Hush, hush, I told them all. That was just the climax. Now I’ll write a denouement and all will be well. You’ll see.
Snorting, the Writing Neurons muttered, “Bullshit.” The Muses were more restrained, expressing their WTF doubts with a smirk.
Ignoring them, I pressed on. That’s when I realized why the ending did work. It did work because I had to get it out of me. It also worked because I saw that I was aiming toward the end of one story line, involving the main person, but there was a larger story line that needed an ending. I’d become so focused on my main person, I overlooked that other story line.
When I wrote that ending for the story, I killed one trending direction. Doing so freed the character to take over. Completely unaware of where I was going, like trying to find the bathroom in an unfamiliar, pitch-black house, every new paragraph was a challenge. I often rewrote paragraphs several times, trying to figure out what they meant. Is that how novel writing is supposed to go? I actually think so.
Now, I think I see the real ending. I don’t say that too loudly. Don’t want to piss off the protagonist, Muses, and Writing Neurons. It’s hard enough keeping them all in line and moving in the same direction. Like herding angry feral cats.
Got my coffee and a table. Got my ‘puter. Time to continue writing like crazy, at least one more time.
Choices
Maurice was the new man. Looked like his birth gender might have been different. Or maybe he was just a beautiful man with some exquisite feminine elements. Either way stirred me into intrigue.
He glided us through the identification protocols. I played nice. The others punish you if you don’t play nice. Outside of this establishment, they’ll pound you until death gives you a smile unless you play nice. Death and I played tonguesies a few times before that lesson found a way through my paywall.
Now to business, Maurice orchestrated a beautiful smile my way. Wonder if all those beaming white chicklets were real and natural. Such aquamarine eyes, too. Wars nicely with the glass-smooth mocha skin. Ah, to be wrinkle free. Like that matters to such as me.
“You have two outstanding attributes which might be available to you, Mickey,” Maurice purred. My mind surfed a mental register of attributes and awaited further info. “Invisibility and timetravel are both possible for you, but only one or the other.”
My mind jumped, flipped, and twirled like Simone Biles. Invisibility is the second-least attribute found in people. Time travel is queen of the rarest. No wonder pretty Maurice was here chatting me up. “Wow,” I said like a hayseed blown in on the wind. “I’d like being them.”
A professionally contrite expression landed on Maurice’s beauty. “I’m afraid that you can only be one or the other.”
“Oh.” I poured sadness into my gaze. “That’s a bummer. I thought it’d be so great to be an invisible timetraveller. Just think of the fun.”
“Yes, the opportunities which present do boggle the mind.”
LOL. Only salespeople talk like that.
Maurice ran me the drawbacks and bennies the program provides with those attributes. I made noises and expressions like I paid extreme attention and contained excited interest. I knew from farm skuttle that every attribute has drawbacks. As Maurice delicately phrased it, “Time travel unfortunately damages the cerebral cortex, amygdala, and hippocampi. Being invisible shreds muscle mass and does nerve damage.” He went on with greater clinical details without graphic explanation about how long it generally takes to do these things to people with those attributes.
My mind had already harvested those details and was racing through previously exercised pros and cons in the two choices, searching for the answer, which attribute will be the Amazon Prime delivering my freedom? My shackled co-inhabitants in the farm all punched in with seasoned reasoning about the attributes and freedom. We did it with all the attributes. Nightly ritual. No matter, as Daisychain always said as the bottom line, “You might think you’ll get out, but they will bring you back.”
Someone always put in the addendum, “Or kill you.”
We always laughed with deathly glee. Like being killed was terrible.
Yes, we were ignorant about how terrible things could be in the Farm. We didn’t know that they protected us from knowing.
So, like others, thinking myself more cunning than our masters, I answered Maurice’s ultimate query with suitably guarded hope, kidding myself that they didn’t see right through it.
“I’ll go for timetravel.”
Because I didn’t know that, yes, there are people who can both timetravel and be invisible.
They were the ones who began the program.
I was soon to meet them.
Michael Seidel, writer 